Desire
by mercyshowsnomercy
Summary: Hermione had always known what she wanted; good grades, house elf rights, her hair to behave. But nowadays she isn't so sure. Unfortunately for her she stumbles upon someone who desperately wants to help her figure it out... In which a pretty boy in a pretty mirror is far too persuasive. Tomione. Rated M for future chapters.
1. What do you want?

Want:

Rain was pelting the window mercilessly and the thunder seemed to make the very foundations of the castle shudder with every blow. Inside, the fire of Gryffindor common room was more welcoming than ever. That, and the comforts provided by the armchair Hermione was nestled in, should have made the evening all the more pleasant. Unfortunately for her, Ron and Harry were nattering rather loudly on the sofa next to her. She shouldn't have been bothered- correction- she wouldn't have been bothered if it weren't for the fact that Ron was still going on about his latest crush.

It wasn't as though she cared whose throat Ron wanted to stick his tongue down, she didn't care in the least, it was simply the fact that he wouldn't shut up about her. In the morning, in the evening, during lessons, on trips to Hogsmeade- it didn't matter where they were, what time it was or what they were supposed to be doing, he always found a way to bring the conversation round to her. By now, Hermione was half tempted to brew some amortentia and get her to fall in love with him if it at least kept him quiet for a minute.

Of course, Harry didn't help either. He insisted on indulging Ron- according to him it was better that Ron get it out of his system otherwise he would go on pining over her forever, but Hermione disagreed. If you wanted to be with someone you asked them, and if they said no you get over it- it was simple and Ron was just being ridiculous.

Some part of her felt like just ignoring it, but another part of her seemed to fester on the matter, growing steadily more agitated every time that he uttered her name. It wasn't like she could just avoid him, though, his crush could last for months and avoiding Ron most assuredly meant avoiding Harry too, which was unthinkable.

Oh well, she thought, she would just have to tolerate it for the time being.

* * *

That morning Hermione was too engrossed in reading ahead in her transfiguration textbook to notice that Ron had hardly touched his food. It wasn't until he let out a heavy sigh that she even realised he was at the table.

"Oh, morning Ron. I didn't see you there."

"Isn't she gorgeous?" He sighed, not taking his transfixed eyes from the Ravenclaw he was so enamoured with. Her name was Melody. She was nice enough from what Hermione had heard, although she had never personally interacted with her.

"You're not still going to talk about her? Honestly, you must have exhausted every adjective under the sun already to describe her."

"Hermione she's perfect!"

"I know. I know more about her than I do about ancient runes thanks to you. What I don't understand is why you don't just ask her out on a date, already?"

"Nah, nah. You don't know what you're talking about. It isn't that simple. She's- she's like a goddess. I can't just ask her out on a date- I don't even know what I'd say." Ron shook his head, looking almost affronted that she suggest he talk to her.

"Well, you seem perfectly poetic when you're talking to me and Harry about her. Just introduce yourself and then tell her that you think she's wonderful. At least talk to her. You may find that she's far more down to earth than you think."

"You don't get it. It's just not how it's done. A guy can't just ask out a girl, especially when she's hot. If she weren't so bloody perfect it wouldn't be a problem." He went back to staring dreamily at the Ravenclaw.

An amused smile materialised oh Hermione's face despite herself; he had his elbow resting on the toast that occupied his plate he was so distracted. "Do you want me to do it for you?"

"What?" He asked, only half turning to Hermione.

She rolled her eyes. "Would you like me to set up a date with her for you?"

Ron turned round fully then and Hermione thought he looked like he was about to laugh. At the very least his expression was sceptical. "No offense 'Mione but you're not really the best person to help out in this situation, are you?"

Hermione's eyes flashed imperiously at the red haired boy. "What is that supposed to mean exactly?"

Ron bowed his head a little sheepishly but still didn't seem to think before he almost apologetically blurted out- "Well, you don't have that much experience with relationships do you."

"And how would you know?"

"Well, I just mean- Compared to other-" He stuttered.

"Compared to what? Other girls? So you think I lack the experience to convey to another girl that you like her? It isn't rocket science- though if it were then I certainly would be better than you at it. And you're just assuming that I couldn't possibly have had any relationships because what- because I'm a swot? Is that it? Because of my bushy hair? Or because I'm too bossy?"

"I never said that!"

"That's precisely what you're saying by making assumptions, Ronald!"

"'Mione, don't be like that."

"I'll be how I like, thank you very much." She said venomously, lifting her things from the table and heading towards the entrance of the great hall.

Honestly, that blockheaded, insufferable, twit! Did he ever think about the weight of his words? And why did he just assume that she didn't have any experience with relationships? She certainly knew more about girls than he did. Couldn't he just have politely declined instead of being a complete arse!

In her haste to flee the thoughtless drivel that seemed to fester around Ron she bumped into Harry, who was just making his way down to breakfast, and dropped some of her textbooks. "Whoa, sorry! Oh, Hermione- you're in a hurry." Then he looked up into her face, which still carried the angry residue of her spat with the red haired boy. "Hermione, what's wrong?" He asked, helping to pick up her books.

"Nothing, Harry- I'm fine. Just- just go get breakfast quickly, before lessons start!" Harry nodded helplessly in reply and scurried past her, casting a couple of concerned glances back as he went to get a seat.

"What did you say this time?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at Ron as he somewhat moodily stuffed his face.

"Nuffin!" He cried.

Harry shook his head.

* * *

For the next week she refused to speak to him. She wasn't entirely sure it was rational because he hadn't explicitly said that she couldn't get a date, he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. But he had. Because she could see it when he said she wasn't the right person to ask. She could see the way he was laughing, thinking that she was clueless, thinking she didn't know anything about relationships.

Just because she didn't gush about her crushes the way Ron did didn't mean she knew nothing.

Just because she wasn't a "goddess" like Melony didn't exclude her from being dateable. She had plenty of pleasing attributes. She just wished Ron could see that.

Well- no. Not that way. She didn't want Ron to think of her like that but… Well she just wished he would realise that there were more things to consider when looking for a girlfriend or boyfriend. She, for example, wanted someone funny, and interesting, and complimentary, and supportive. And what did Ron want? Melony. And why did he want her? Because she's a goddess, she's perfect, she's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen 'Mione! But what else did he know about her? Nothing. And therein lay the problem; how could he know nothing about Melony and everything about her and not even consider that someone could have found her attractive, that she could have relationship experience. It was just insulting! All she wanted was for him to see that there was more to her than books and cleverness, and maybe even come to find her intelligence as something other than bothersome. She just wanted him to stop being so- so ignorant and shallow!

That was all she wanted.

Nothing else.

She sat down beside him in the common room later that day. The misunderstanding was forgotten. Their friendship was more important at the end of the day. Even if it felt like a drill was driving further and further into her head when he spoke about the pretty Ravenclaw. Even if it felt like a stake was being driven into her every time he smiled at the mention of the girl. Even if it felt like a swarm of bees were being rattled in her belly every time his arm brushed hers…

Even though that's not what she wanted. Right?

"What do you want?" Inquired a snobbish voice.

Hermione had been thinking about that a lot lately. What did she want? There were some things that she had wanted for as long as she could remember like a brilliant education that would lead to rewarding job prospects. There were some things she had wanted since she had entered the magical world such as rights for house elves and the erosion of boundaries between the pureblood elite and muggle-borns. And then there were things that she had only just begun to consider worth her time, like her friendship with Harry and Ron and perhaps, at some point, someone to share her vision of the future with.

"I said what do you want?" Came the snobbish voice again. Hermione shook herself out of her stupor and looked down at the pretty girl in her blue robes.

"Um…" She started, still weighted, as she had been for a while, by the prospect of the future, and what it was that she hoped to get out of it.

"Um…?" Teased the girl, earning a peal of laughter from the other girls round her. "Well, spit it out!"

Hermione blushed furiously. "A friend of mine would rather like to get to know you, and, seeing as we share classes I agreed to breach the gap." She said, rather bluntly and restrainedly. Honestly, this girl was so haughty, what could Ron possibly see in her?

"Oh right. Granger isn't it?" Hermione went to affirm the question but was cut off by an impatient swipe of the girl's hand. "You're friends with Potter and the red head. So which one is it that could possibly like little old me?" The swarm of girls giggled again.

"It's-"

"No!" She interjected agitatedly. "I'll figure it out for myself. Potter seems more my type. But then, being famous and all, he has more self-esteem than to get another girl to make an advance. I've never really interacted with the red-head…"

"Ron." Hermione atoned.

The girl's mouth twitched into an irritated smile. "Yes, Ron. Well, he seems more likely to have sent his pet to win his battles for him."

"I beg your pardon?" She said, her anger barely in check.

"You heard what I said. And that response merely proves that you're his little guard dog. Oh look at your little fuming face! So loyal! It's adorable."

"You know what, I retract the statement. He wouldn't like you at all." Hermione asserted, ready to walk away and forget the whole thing.

"That's one possibility." Said Melony, she then smirked and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Or perhaps you just wish he liked you better?"

Hermione bristled, her whole body seeming to swell with angry magic- but only for a second. The foul girl really wasn't worth that kind of hate. "No. I merely wish to keep my friends away from bad company." She smiled bitterly before walking off. She didn't want to hear any more of what Melony had to say.

Suddenly she was very glad that Ron hadn't decided to come over himself. She would have to let him down gently of course but he would understand if she phrased it nicely. He would come to realise that she wasn't worth his attention, no matter how pretty she was, because after interacting with her Hermione assumed that was her only commendable feature.

* * *

"Uh, Hermione? Are you ok?"

"Harry, you have got to stop asking me that. Like I told you the last hundred times you asked: I'm fine."

"It's just that you don't sound fine. And I mean I know Ron-"

She cut him off. "What about Ron, Harry? I barely even see him since he started following Melony around," Distaste clouded her voice and her pen flashed across the page vehemently. "And quite frankly I'm just glad I no longer have to hear about her."

"But don't you think she's a little…" Harry trailed off searching for a word before spotting Ron walking their way.

Hermione, however, didn't notice and decided to fill in the blank. "Cold? Pretentious? Scheming? She could be all of those things for all I care."

"Hermione." Harry whispered, nudging her as Ron came into earshot.

She kept her head down scribbling with lightning efficiency as she continued her strain of thought. "I mean, Ronald has the right to stick his tongue down whoever's throat he pleases, just because she happens to be a rude, inconsiderate, elitist…jerk in her spare time doesn't mean we have a right to impede on his newfound happiness."

"No. You don't." Came Ron's voice. His ears were turning red.

Hermione froze.

"And she isn't like that. Just 'cause you're jealous that I managed to get her without your so-called help and you can't even get anyone to talk to you besides me and Harry doesn't mean you get to insult Melony."

"Jealous!" She seethed, though she kept her head down, unwilling to even look at him. Her pen nearly snapped as the word left her.

"Yeah. That's how you've been acting. Honestly, it's like you've gone loopy."

"Ron!" Harry warned. As always, he saw and understood more of what Hermione was feeling than the youngest Weasley boy.

Hermione looked up at her friend across the table. An eerily calm smile occupied her face and her voice was suddenly simmering. "No, no Harry, let him speak his mind. I want to hear what he has to say."

Oblivious to the menace in her voice, Ron continued his complaint. "What are you so jealous about anyway? Just because I've found someone else who likes me, someone else to spend time with? It's bad enough you lying to me about her, but lying to yourself about how lonely you are? That's just sad."

The smile on Hermione's face grew in size and venom as he spoke. The fire behind her eyes sent a chill down Harry's spine. When she stood he thought that she might punch him or hex him in some form or other. Somehow her cordial "See you later Harry," and collected departure was so much worse.

* * *

Understanding. That was all she wanted. At least that's what she thought she wanted. If she was being honest she wasn't really sure anymore. But it didn't matter because what she needed right now was just somewhere away from Ron, somewhere she could collect her thoughts and get over his stupidity. So as she paced in front of the Room of Requirement that's what materialised; a quaint, comfortable room with a large navy sofa, a roaring fireplace and, best of all, a well-stocked book shelf.

She had read about the elusive room while doing a bit of light reading one day and had set out to find it merely to satisfy her curiosity. What she had discovered, however, was better than anything she could have imagined. A quiet room, warm and comfortable. A place to study without pause. A place to practice spells safely and unhindered. And, as of late, a place to hide.

It had become routine to go there when she needed some peace. As far as she was aware nobody else knew where the room was so she came to find the place increasingly accommodating. Of course it always knew what she wanted and always provided exactly that. She had started coming so often that she could have navigated the room blindfolded, in fact. However, as Hermione made herself comfortable in her hideaway, nestling into the sofa whilst she pulled out a book on the applications of trolls' spit in advanced potion making, a new object caught her eye.

There, in the corner of the room, covered by a tarp, and half hidden in darkness, was an unknown addition to the furniture.

Curiosity pulled her up and set her book aside. It then curled its fingers invitingly towards the large shape, coercing a tentative step out of Hermione each time it did so. As she drew nearer anticipation made her stomach curl too. She then curled her fingers round the tarp, it was freezing and yet tingled her hand with magical energy. She almost didn't pull it. There was something odd about the way the magic beckoned her. It was far too…chilling and yet, far too…comforting and altogether, far too…alluring. She almost didn't pull it.

But she did, because who wouldn't.

And when she did, her breath caught in her throat.

"Hello." Said the boy in the mirror.


	2. Reflections

"Hello." He said.

Because what else were you supposed to say to an odd girl in a mirror. And she was odd. Her hair was incredibly bushy and her face a little stern. Her uniform suggested that she did indeed attend Hogwarts and yet something about it wasn't quite right. She was rather plain in general, not the sort of person he would've paid attention to had she not appeared in a magical mirror, and yet there she was.

"Hello." She replied, composing her features. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Pleasure." He said. There was no point being rude to the girl, at least not yet. He wanted to find out what the mirror was exactly and why it was showing him this strange girl.

Neither said anything else for a while. They merely examined one another, wondering why the other was there, invading their respective sanctuaries. The silence didn't last, however, her face became irate and she placed her hands on her hips impetuously.

"Well…" She said.

"Well what?" He said innocently.

"Don't you have a name?" She asked, her voice a little waspish and impatient. He imagined that she was the sort to not like being wrong.

A smile appeared. "I do."

"And what might that name be?" She crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry- Miss Granger was it? I'm not accustomed to giving my name to strangers in enchanted mirrors." Tom suppressed a smirk at how truly indignant she looked.

"Well…" She started, as if to argue, but then she reigned herself in. "Well, I suppose that's understandable. Do you know what this mirror is?"

He didn't yet. "Do you?"

"No, it just appeared here."

"Where are you?"

A small, triumphant smirk graced Hermione's features. "Sorry, I'm not accustomed to giving my location to strangers in enchanted mirrors."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, but refrained from an outright sneer. "Whatever. I already know where you are anyway."

"What? How-"

"It's the Room of Requirement isn't it? There's nobody around and that room doesn't resemble any I've seen in Hogwarts so I very much doubt it's a common room. And those chairs and blankets aren't at all appropriate for a classroom. They appear to be just about right for a lonely girl trying to hide from something though."

Her face contorted into one of mild outrage. "I'm not hiding. I study here."

"If you say so." Tom smirked.

"And if you're in the Room of Requirement then what does your room say about you." Here she leaned forward, trying to look around him to see what lay in his room. "Gloomy, and solitary, and not a comfortable chair in sight. Even your fire looks sad compared to mine."

"I don't require such frivolities to study." He replied, not in the least offended by her assessment. Gloomy and solitary was better than cheerful and crowded any day.

"But if we're both in the Room of Requirement why aren't we together? Does it divide if more than one person is in it at the same time?"

"Perhaps. But then why bless us with this?" Tom gestured to the mirror.

"I- I don't know. I've never seen it before."

"It has an inscription."

"It does? Oh yes I see now."

"erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." They read in unison.

Hermione repeated the phrase under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of the mirror.

Tom continued to squint at it. What could it mean? It wasn't in any language he knew. He supposed it could be a shift code such as they used in the muggle world but that seemed an odd choice for a clearly magical artefact. It just looked so bizarre, so jumbled.

"Aha!" The girl declared suddenly racing back to her chair. Tom followed her with his eyes, startled by her revelation. She couldn't possibly have figured it out before him.

Yet she came back, pen and pad in hand, scribbling down a translation he assumed. As she did so he finally realised what was wrong with her uniform; despite looking neat he skirt was above regulation length and she was wearing a boys tie, not a girls one. Surely she would be sanctioned for that. Unless she was a boy. She was quite easily ruffled for a girl. A little too confident for a girl too. But then why would he wear a skirt…

His derailed musings were cut short by a small harrumph.

"I thought that would be it…"

"Show me." He said, startling her. His hand was outstretched.

"Oh, sure." She said, passing the notebook to him.

He took it in his hand and started scanning the words as she began to explain her reasoning.

"You see, as odd as the inscription is I don't think it's in another language. For one thing the letters are all in line with latin based languages so it couldn't be Arabic or Chinese or Egyptian or anything with other characters. However it doesn't appear to have any relation to any languages that share the same characters as English-" She rattled on.

Tom wasn't listening he was looking at her words. "ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire" Of course, reflected writing on a mirror, how original. But where she was frustrated by a continued lack of vision, Tom was able to see clearly. It _was_ a confusion of letters. They were purposely put together to baffle. How juvenile, and yet, evidently effective. "I show not your face but your heart's desire." He smiled to himself. But then he considered the implications of those words.

He knew precisely what he wanted. And it was definitely not her.

He glanced up.

Hermione, meanwhile, was staring agape at him.

Oh no, she hadn't figured out the message as she'd been ranting had she? If she had he could only imagine the trouble that would follow.

"What?" Tom asked calmly, waiting for her to say something stupid. Though she didn't respond as expected she didn't disappoint on the stupidity front.

"You have my notebook." She answered, tonelessly.

Tom looked down at it nonplussed. Yes. Why did she care? It wasn't as if he'd stolen it. She had given it to him.

She had passed it to him…through…the…mirror.


	3. Unknowns

**A/N: Greetings, people who are reading this! Thank you so much to all those who followed and reviewed! Much love! 3**

 **In response to those who reviewed- yes, Ron is a bit of a git in this universe and Hermione is 100% done with it. Also I'm 100% done with it, Hermione is a gem and deserves all the respect and love.**

 **In relation to the story as a whole: I am super excited to get this underway, as my first ever fic, (and thanks again to those already joining me for the ride!). I promise to update regularly and to proofread and just generally deliver the best quality content I can for y'all so yeah! Imma stop talking and trying to be personable so that you can hopefully enjoy this next chapter. :)**

So it wasn't just a mirror.

That was…interesting. Although for some reason Hermione also felt that it was wrong. It made her uneasy to know that the arrogant boy on the other side could potentially walk through and be in her special place. Something about him just wasn't right.

He looked, now that she had a chance to examine him, and if she were being honest with herself, too good. Nobody that attractive had ever transpired to be good news. No. She sensed he was the type to get what he wanted far too easily, and with little care for what others thought. It was in the way he held himself. It was in the steadiness of his gaze. It was even in the tilt of his smirk. He was powerful. Hermione had never seen a person who seemed to radiate authority so clearly, especially not a teenage boy. It was unsettling. And what was worse was the fact that, even if only a little bit, she was drawn to it.

He intrigued her for sure. But then he did appear in a magic mirror, gateway, object(?) so that was reasonable.

She didn't particularly care right at that moment. She was far too busy trying to collect her thoughts, which seemed to be alternating between don't let him in and step through. Both of these options seemed problematic to an extent.

He didn't seem to care as much. His eyebrows merely drew together at the realisation that they were connected by more than just a window. She might have said he looked confused but the change was so subtle she couldn't really tell.

Over their silent contemplation of the matter their fires crackled, though for once the sound gave her no comfort. Hermione had never felt unsafe in her room before but now she felt incredibly uneasy; the boy seemed suspect; her room seemed smaller; and the mirror seemed to be spewing frigid air. It coiled round her ankles as she stood before it, wondering what the connection meant, wondering why it was with him, wondering where it would lead…

Suddenly the boy looked up at her, face perfectly composed, almost inviting but for... A fresh chill settled over her as she noticed for the first time how truly dark his eyes were. They seemed to have no colour at all. Just darkness. Endless, fathomless, darkness. Under his scrutiny she felt a new intensity added to her fight or flight responses. The two options became equally compelling magnetic forces and her stuttering heart lay stretched between them.

He seemed to be about to step forward.

What was he thinking?

What was he doing?

What-

A sharp chime pulled Hermione out of her anxious thoughts and stopped the boy in his tracks. It came from the clock above the fireplace, reminding her to get a move on before curfew.

"I have to go." She muttered, for some reason sheepishly, like she was apologetic for having to leave this entirely unplanned occurrence. In reality she was relieved. Yes. Not disappointed. Relieved.

"So you do." Came his reply, and with it a far too charming smile. A blush seized her cheeks at the hint of disappointment in his voice. But then, hadn't he been snide and secretive only a minute ago?

"Yes, well it was a pleasure to meet you Mr…?" She chanced, regaining herself in the hope of ascertaining at least half of his identity.

He tutted playfully. "Perhaps next time Miss Granger. For now though, it was a pleasure." Merlin, his eyes! She could stare into those eyes for eternity.

Despite herself, warmth spread through her cheeks once again. Ridiculous! How was he suddenly so disarming? "Yes, goodbye." She mumbled, hurrying away to grab her things. The quicker she left the better. She didn't trust those eyes of his. Or that smile. Or that voice…

"Miss Granger." He called. She swivelled round faster than she would have liked.

"Yes?" Why did she suddenly sound so hopeful?

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He smirked, holding up the notebook. His head was tilted to the side endearingly.

"Oh, right." She said, coming to retrieve it, but before she reached the mirror he stepped through himself.

He was in her space.

Hermione tried to keep her features steady. She needn't panic. He was just a boy. Just an excessively attractive, slightly intimidating, human boy. With eyes as dark as the deepest depths of hell and a smile as alluring as the devil himself. No sweat.

But then his fingers grazed hers as he passed the notebook back. And he was too close. Too close and too tall, she realised. He practically towered over her. It should have been disconcerting, the way he grinned down at her. It was disconcerting. But at the same time she felt compelled to come closer. "Thanks." She tugged it out of his hands and waited until he'd stepped back on to his side to flee, replacing the tarp with a flick of her wand and already overthinking every aspect of the interaction.

* * *

It was a gateway. That made more sense. It meant that what he desired was on the other side, it wasn't the girl at all. He realised this as they stood in silence, regarding one another and considering the implications of such a passageway. It vexed him somewhat that she looked so concerned by the notion. Most girls would have clawed their way through the mirror for a chance to reach him, whether it were a gateway or not.

Not her, apparently.

Distrust clouded her gaze instead. Her arms cradled her torso protectively. Her lower lip was being kneaded by her teeth mercilessly.

But he supposed it didn't really matter what she thought. It wasn't as if she could stop him getting through even if she wanted to. Nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted. Least of all an annoying little girl.

In fact he would go through right-

A clock chimed shrilly from her side. Tom noticed her shoulders sag in…relief?

"I have to go." She muttered. How could it have been relief when she sounded so sad to go? But that was irrelevant, he needed to see if he could get through. Just to know he could would be enough for now. He could come back later and search for what he desired. But, if she was uncomfortable with it, she might get in his way. But he couldn't simply threaten her. He didn't know who else might be on the other side. He didn't know how long it would take to find whatever was on the other side. He didn't even know why only now he was blessed with this connection to the other side. There were just too many unknowns. He would have to tread carefully.

"So you do." He replied, gracing her with his finest smile, though it physically pained him to do so.

It almost had its intended effect. The bushy haired girl certainly looked flustered. But then beneath the blush there seemed to be a hint of irritation. She didn't quite trust him.

With a curt smile of her own she responded. "Yes, well it was a pleasure to meet you Mr…?" She chanced, raising an eyebrow imploringly.

So that's why she didn't trust him. Stupid girl shouldn't give away personal information if she didn't trust people. "Perhaps next time Miss Granger. For now though, it was a pleasure."

A fresh blush passed over her cheeks. For a second she appeared to have bought it. Just as quickly as it had appeared, however, it dissipated. She mumbled a hasty reply and went to speed off. Darned witch! How dare she just walk away from him? He just needed an excuse to step through. Something that wouldn't seem suspicious. Something like-

He looked down. Aha!

"Miss Granger." He called. A natural smirk materialising at the sight of her far too quick turn-around. So she wasn't completely impervious to his charms. Good to know.

"Yes?" She asked. Oh how pitiful she sounded. So hopeful. It was tantalising.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He teased.

An angry tint overcame her cheeks once more, embarrassed this time. Pathetic. "Oh, right." She mumbled, stepping forward. What she didn't anticipate, was him doing the same.

The girl's eyes widened as he stepped through and all the concern she possessed after noticing the connection returned. He held the book out to her. "Thanks." She said firmly. Her voice remained level as she fiercely tugged the notebook away. Her eyes, however, danced to a different tune; they swayed in the light of the fire with a mixture of fear and anger, attraction and defiance. He could see it all there in her chestnut eyes, intensified by the reflection of the fire within them, and it occurred to him that it was rather beautiful. Almost…entrancing.

Then she was away again. Too far away, he thought, randomly. But she wasn't his concern here, why did he care? He had achieved his goal; he had established that he could walk through the gateway; he had established that the mirror was leading him to what he desired most; and he had established that the Granger girl could, and would be persuaded to help him achieve his end.

With this in mind he stepped back through the mirror. Pleased by the unexpected turn of events. Brilliant. He would get his heart's desire- power, power, power!

He might even have laughed at the revelation that everything he wanted lay just beyond a magical sheet of glass. But then the mirror went dark.

Did she- put the tarp back over it?

A pang of fury sprouted in his chest, blossoming as his hands met cold glass. He couldn't get through. Without her there he couldn't get through!

Shit!

And she didn't trust him.

Further shit!

He wanted to know what lay on the other side. It surely wasn't the same Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement surely didn't just split. He definitely hadn't seen her around before.

Maybe it was an alternate universe?

A magical gateway to a dimension in which he could reign supreme?

Perhaps there was an object there that could help him rise to power in his world?

It didn't matter what it was he wanted it!

And that girl. That Granger. She would not stand in his way.

He was Lord Voldemort for Merlin's sake!

And he would not be beaten by a girl.


	4. Conjectures

I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Hermione worried her lip unconsciously. Her quill darted across her parchment with more fervour than usual, staining it with an absent-minded confidence as she mulled over the words for the hundredth time.

Inwardly she scolded herself for how blatantly obvious it was once you flipped the letters round. But after administering the appropriate admonishment she turned apprehensive.

It was obvious. But was it obvious enough for that boy to figure out? Had he figured it out then? Was that why he insisted on steping through? Or was he just curious? Had he gone back to it afterwards and started puzzling through the letters to find their meaning?

It had been five days. He must have figured it out in that time.

But then what were the implications of the message? What was her heart's desire? Surely not him. She was not that shallow. If it was a partner she wanted then they would be kind, and funny, and smart. Like R-

Like her, but different.

But if he wasn't her heart's desire then what was, and what was his? He was the first thing she saw. And there was definitely something between them, something that coiled her insides and turned her brainwaves to white noise. Although, it felt more like fear than anything else.

Didn't it?

It didn't feel like her first year, when she has seen Ron tossed from the Knight's horse in their pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. It hadn't felt like her second year, when she had singlehandedly sought out the basilisk. It certainly couldn't compare to the events of last year, when she had fled from her professor in his werewolf form, when she had seen Harry and Sirius almost killed by Dementors, when she had tampered with time and feared the consequences. It didn't feel like that…yet.

However, it reeked of mischief. It carried a stench of trouble, deceptively laced with a disarming hint of excitement.

But that wasn't what she wanted. Not this year. She wanted Harry to be safe. She wanted herself to be safe. She wanted-

The nib of her quill sputtered suddenly as she placed the last full stop, leaving an unattractive blot at the end of her parchment. It sunk into the page rapidly, irreversibly marking her work with the evidence of her steadily growing agitation. It was ugly. She almost felt like starting over due to how messy it looked in comparison to her neat script. Almost.

Hermione sighed and place the quill on the table, trying to push away all thoughts of the pretty, intimidating boy she so desperately didn't want to see by rereading her essay once again.

And it worked. For a while.

She tried curling up in a chair in the common room with the book she had taken out for History of Magic, and dispersing the image of his dark eyes and the heady feeling they had given her when her towered above her.

And it worked. For a bit longer.

She tried talking to Harry and listening to his Jokes and relaxing as she almost always did in his presence, under his kind green eyes, his mother's eyes, so unlike the other boy's.

And it worked.

Until Ron returned from his date with Melony.

He planted himself next to Harry, instantly assailing him with details about how wonderful she was, how her laugh sounded like eating a chocolate frog, how her kiss was like swimming in amortentia. She might have been impressed by the effort he was clearly trying to put into his similes had they been about anybody other than that insipid little minx.

It had become clear to both Harry and Hermione that the girl was using him to get to the boy who lived. Just as clear as it was that neither of them could tell him that under any circumstances. He was too far gone, too deeply rooted, too enchanted by her superficial charms.

That's why Hermione had apologised to him and they were on speaking terms again. That's why he thought it was ok to gush about his darling in all his available free time. And that's why Hermione had to leave, she had to get out of the far too stuffy common room, she had to escape before he said the word "love" again in that far too moved voice.

She went to bed. But she did not go to sleep. She could not go to sleep.

Now that she was alone all she could do was think about the room, the mirror and the boy. For the billionth time she wracked her brain for some recollection of him. He wore the uniform but he didn't go to her Hogwarts. She would've known if he did. She would've recognised the inky depth of the boy's eyes. How the darkness they contained bled into the area around him. How that darkness beckoned alluringly. How it invaded and violated those who weren't too careful. He wasn't safe, that boy. He seemed fake; glossy and perfect and fake, covered in a veneer too thick to tear back.

She wouldn't go back. She couldn't go back.

* * *

Tom paced back and forth before the mirror, contemplating how he could possibly get through. It was apparent that the girl most definitely did not attend the Hogwarts that he currently resided in (he had search every record of students he could find for the name Hermione Granger but had found nothing).Wherever she was, therefore, he couldn't reach her without the mirror. He needed her to come back. Over the past five days his head had been filled with nothing but conjectures as to what could possibly lie beyond the gilded frame that oppressed his room.

Knowledge? Glory? Power?

In any case it refused to be ignored. It exuded a penetrating warmth that at once laboured the air and drew him closer. It glimmered with the light of the flames in his fireplace, distracting him as he read. But he couldn't risk covering it up. She could return at any moment. The mirror still stood so he assumed the connection still existed. Surely it would only vanish again if the connection ended.

If there was still a chance of getting through he would not let it up. Even if he had to wait there ever night, he would not miss her return. He had to get whatever it was that belonged to him on the other side, and he would stop at noth-

A gentle glow suffused the air.

From the other side the bushy haired girl eyed him in silence. She stood, in what he assumed were her pyjamas and a dreadful jumper in Gryffindor colours, with her arms crossed and her foot tapping the ground impatiently.

"I didn't think you'd come back." He smiled softly, shyly, showcasing vulnerability in a way he hoped she would lap up, intent on winning her over.

"I was busy." She replied brusquely. So she wasn't buying into his act. Something seemed to remain unsaid in her answer, however.

"I see," He started, charmingly, compelling her to drop her guard. "So why-"

She cut him off impatiently, as though she had anticipated his every question and already knew every possible response she would give. "I went to the library to see if I could find out anything about it after I worked out the inscription…"

"Ah yes, I show not-"

"Your face but your heart's desire, yes I know." She finished irately. "But I found it mentioned in 'Octarin Rousin's Ancient Magical Obscuritites' as the Mirror of Erised. Desire backwards. I'd heard about it from a friend in my first year here, but I wasn't aware it could create a passageway. My research was fruitless when it came to filling in the gaps in my knowledge, however, it barely touched upon that which I already knew. And so I've come back to- to explore its capabilities."

Tom had to bite his cheek to keep himself from checking her interruption. Be nice, he told himself, cultivate her. "That's understandable. Though, if you wouldn't mind," he began again, pausing this time in anticipation of yet another interruption. A small part of him almost wanted her to interrupt, to give him an excuse to react. But she didn't. He continued. "I would like to help you. I too am very interested by its sudden appearance. An appearance which, given its apparent ability to show our desires, would appear to be no accident."

Tom tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, attempting to look both sweet and suggestive.

To his chagrin the girl merely nodded and gifted him a tight smile. "Quite."

He shook off the rebuff and, with a step forward, began to wind his web. "I believe it best, with our new project, Miss Granger-"

"Let me stop you there." Hermione interjected, taking a step back and eyeing the space he'd stepped into with caution. His web was cut. "I can understand the merits of working together. We can get through more, at a quicker pace, and each of us will have our own knowledge and experience to bring to the table. We can solve this little mystery and be done with it. However, given the fact that we do know nothing about this connection, or about each other, I suggest we establish some boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Tom asked, a gorgeous smile still graced his features but he was starting to wonder what the consequences would be if he decided to kill her, or just crucio her a bit.

The little witch smiled back almost cruelly as she came to recognise the same tightness that had been in her own smile. "Yes, boundaries, guidelines, parameters. Whatever you wish to call it, there are some rules we should establish."

"Such as?" He said through gritted teeth. His façade was tearing apart at the seams alongside his patience.

"I don't trust you." Came her voice, strong and clear, like a lioness. In a way Tom was glad that it was laid so bare, a dead deer in the centre of the feeding ground, the death of that pretence, an offering of coexistence. Not peace, just communication. Honesty.

"I see." He didn't smile this time. Just stared.

She stared back, the fire of his room taking hold of her eyes and making them glint dangerously, defiantly, like they had when he had closed the space between them. "I think you're hiding something. Something beneath that smile. You aren't honest, I don't think." A smirk claimed him at her conjectures. She was intuitive, that was for sure, to work that out after one meeting. Nobody saw through his guise unless he wanted them to. Nobody but Dumbledore.

"Why should I be honest to a stranger such as yourself?" He asked, ripping his eyes away from hers before he felt tempted to snuff out their flame. He began to pace again.

"Because you need me." She stated. Triumph radiated from her violently, her mouth twisting up into a devious little grin. The witch only seemed to grin wider as her words erased his smirk. He was sure he must look dangerous now, and that made her chirpy little face all the more frustrating. He would teach her a lesson, he would show her the true power of Lord Voldemort and the fate which befell all those who dared to defy him!

He would, if she weren't right.

"Perhaps."

"No definitely. Without me you can't get through, or else you already would have. That means without me you can't get to your heart's desire. And that's what you really want. You don't care about the mirror at all, you only care about what it might lead you to. I'm right aren't I?"

"You do like to talk don't you, Miss Granger?" Tom retorted, tired of her little speeches. She coloured, her bushy mane seeming to raise itself on its haunches at the verbal attack. "You're saying all this but what you ought to be telling me is what rules you want to impose, should you not?"

"Fine, I'll cut to the chase." She said, straightening herself out and locking eyes with him once again. "For a start, I would like to know your name."

"My name?"

"If we're going to collaborate I can't just call you boy, can I?"

"I'm sure you could manage the single syllable if you put your mind to it…"

She glared at him before pulling out her wand, threatening to pull the sheet over the glass once more.

"Alright, I'll give you half."

"Half!" She cried, exasperated.

"Yes. Well, a third actually."

She considered it for a moment, nipping her lip before pouting like a petulant child. "Fine."

"Tom."

"Tom?" She asked, a mischievous grin forming on her face.

"Yes, Tom. Do you have a problem with that, Granger?" He snarled, losing all decorum in the face of her mockery. Really, she was an insolent nitwit.

She coloured a little. "No, sorry. I shouldn't laugh it's just not what I expected at all. I thought it'd be something more…" she scrunched up her nose. "Powerful, I suppose."

Tom regained himself. An insolent but perceptive nitwit, perhaps. "Something more powerful…" he chuckled to himself. "Yes, indeed."

 **A/N: Hello lovely people who have read thus far, especially all those of you who have followed and favourited this story! I planned to upload this much earlier but I just wasn't happy with the chapter so I revised it and voila- I think this is better! IDK I'm still figuring all the deets out. Anyway I hope you like this chapter! Hope that it raised the tension a bit. If not the next chapter definitely will. I mean I've firmly rooted this in a distorted fourth year context now so we might get some new characters soon... All the angst. I'm so excited for it!**

 **P.S: Apologies for the faulty upload. I have zero clue what happened but I think I managed to fix it…**


	5. Promises

Hermione.

He let it roll over his tongue as though sampling a fine wine, whispering it to himself over and over, trying to catch some hint of familiarity. There wasn't any.

Hermione Granger. Her-mi-o-ne Granger.

Not a well-founded wizarding name. A name, it seemed to him, which did not exist anywhere other than in the room of requirement. A name that lingered in his mind nonetheless. A name that intrigued him all the more for its apparent non-existence.

A Gryffindor. A little assertive. Very passionate. Truly fiery. As annoying as it had seemed at first it was almost admirable how confident she was when she tried. She was smart too, intuitive, thorough in her research as well as her studies if the essay he had caught her working on last time was anything to go by. Powerful too, when her tempers flared, though that was rare. If he were pushed he could even admit that she wasn't altogether the worst person to share such a bizarre connection with.

Though she still didn't trust him.

Not entirely.

Not yet.

But he would make her. And he would get through to what lay beyond.

He thought about what he would say to make her cave as he stalked through the halls, neglecting his followers and their idle chatter. In lessons too he couldn't help but let his mind wander to the frizzy haired enigma. She had let little slip about where she came from. Some mentions of two boys, Harry and Ron, whose notes she sometimes finished looking through before she would grace him with her attention. Occasionally a small rant about the disruptive replacement of DADA teachers would escape her too. But he had yet to find out anything substantial and dared not ask lest she become more suspicious.

He was being good. Being patient. Waiting for her to make the first move. Stretching out his hand as though to a stray cat.

But Tom Riddle disliked waiting.

Especially in the knowledge that she could disappear whenever she chose.

He was scowling the entire way to the room of requirement, thinking of how he could possible gain her trust when a rather too cheery and loud voice emanated from behind him.

"Tom, m'boy!" Cried professor Slughorn, rounding on the talented fourth year with astounding speed. "A word?" He asked, whisking him into his office before he had even registered who he was talking to. With that he shut the door.

Instantly Tom plastered on a smile. "Yes, professor? Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

Slughorn grinned grotesquely, tempting Tom to simply hex him and run. He knew, he just knew, that whatever he was going to be asked would be terrible. "Ah, Tom, ever the diligent student. No, no, nothing like that. In fact I was hoping I might be able to help you." He practically bellowed every word, had he no sense of decorum?

"Help me, sir?" Tom asked.

The professor leaned down conspiratorially. "Yes, you see I noticed you've been rather distracted these past few weeks. Still performing brilliantly of course, but, uh, somehow less active. Even now you only noticed me when I was on your heels. And, in light of this, I can't help but wonder if you're experiencing, as all young men eventually will, dare I say it, lady trouble?"

Tom shook his head incredulously, for once unable to restrain his genuine emotions. "I'm sorry, sir?" Lady trouble? What was he thinking!

"There's no need to be embarrassed, m'boy. I know boys your age start to take their first real interest in the terrifying opposite sex!"

Suddenly Tom was very glad for the privacy of the classroom. "No, really sir. I'm not-"

"Nonsense, boy! I know a love-struck face when I see one!" Evidently he didn't. "Don't think I didn't see you just now, frowning into space. And with a great mind like yours I know it can't be school work troubling you. But I have seen the way the girls have started to take a fancy to you, Tom, and I know that you can't be oblivious to that attention. So if you'll let a nosy old man with a bit of experience have a say, I'd like to give you some advice. Women are fickle creatures, Tom. Beautiful and brilliant but fragile. Now with your talents and your looks I don't think there's any question that you could have any girl you set your heart on but keeping them- keeping them is the difficulty."

"Thank you, sir, but really-"

"Let me finish, boy!" Tom made a mental note to execute Slughorn the second he graduated from Hogwarts. "Women must be treated delicately. To truly win a woman's heart you must be honest unless the truth would hurt them, be gentle until you need to protect them, and above all give them what they want. Even when she is wrong she is right Tom. You must always remember that."

Merlin, Tom had never been more insulted in his entire life, as soon as he got the chance he would make sure that- wait. That could work. It was so obvious but then simple solutions often yielded better results than convoluted plans. "Thank you professor, I will take good care to remember that. In fact," Tom smiled brightly. "I believe you have just taken a great weight off of my shoulders." Yes, that would work.

Slughorn beamed and went on for a few minutes about how it was nothing really, just some useless old tosh, but he was glad he could help, very glad to be of any help, any time, as he ushered Tom back into the corridor.

Give her what she wants…

That was something he could do.

* * *

Tom.

Just Tom. She had no way of finding out who he was because she needed the rest of his name. But all she had was Tom.

Despite not being enough to verify his existence, that single syllable was enough to raise her spirits. Over the few meetings they had had so far she had discovered that Tom was actually rather wonderful. Aside from being inhumanly attractive she also came to realise that he was incredibly smart. His manners were brilliant too, though they didn't always seem sincere. He was a Slytherin and so naturally cunning and ambitious. He seemed sure of himself in a way that she hadn't encountered before. Intriguing, confident, contemplative, that's how she had come to summarise his character so far and she had to admit that it wasn't the worst set of characteristics for a relative stranger to have when working on something with them.

She still didn't trust him, however. It was obvious that he just wanted to get through and search for whatever it was that he thought he desired. It was ridiculous in her mind; he was so desperate to get through despite having no idea what he was looking for on her side and ignoring an incredible magical artefact in the process. That was why she always kept her wand up her sleeve. Just a precautionary measure, should he try to catch her unaware.

Logic tried to dictate that, with the way their collaborative research was going, some physical tests would have to be conducted at some point, but Anxiety was holding elections on whether that was a sound idea or not. There was no definitive answer yet but she would have one by the time she saw him that evening.

On the one hand it would be interesting to see what his world was like, what his Hogwarts was like, but on the other she wasn't certain that she really trusted him yet and… Well she also wasn't certain that she wanted to know what lay in wait for her. What if she went through only to discover that what she wanted was- In any case, she was certain she already had everything that she could possibly want; good grades, good friends, good family- good everything really. What more could she need?

But then it wasn't about what she needed…

"That will conclude our lesson for today." Came the voice of Professor McGonagall, clear and assertive as always. It snapped Hermione right out of her thoughts. "And I expect a two foot essay from you all on this particular piece of transfiguration by next week."

Hermione smiled as the class groaned. She would have that essay done by tomorrow, she'd already anticipated it and started it, in fact, and it would exceed two foot because there was simply too much to say. If she hurried she could possibly even ask Tom for his input- he sometimes listened to her theories if he caught her working on something, he would have something good to contribute…

Hermione picked up her bag with a small smile.

"Oh! Before you all leave," McGonagall called, once again dispelling Hermione's thoughts. "you all must attend dinner this evening, Dumbledore is making a special announcement that you will not want to miss."

Damn- was it really the end of October already? She'd forgotten about that. But she was planning on going to the room of requirement. Oh well, she thought, as she hurried to the Great Hall, she wasn't going to ignore the rules just for Tom.

When she arrived in the hall it was abuzz. All the students were whispering excitedly, exchanging theories on what was happening. Rumours of carriages and ships and transfer students and beautiful women charged the air with anticipation. There was quite clearly something big afoot. As she sat down to Harry's anxious face she hoped it would be something to take his mind off of the dreams he kept having. Ron, as always, was oblivious to such details. In a way it was good. He was mindlessly nattering about what was going on, buying in to every single rumour he had heard. It was adorable really…and it seemed to be distracting Harry from his apprehensions.

Suddenly a great hush grasped the room. Dumbledore had stood.

"Good evening students." He said in his soft, yet gripping voice. "As you know I have called you all here this evening to make a special announcement." He paused in his speech, leaving the students leaning forward in their seats, desperate to be the first to hear what excitement lay ahead. How could they all be so excited? For all they knew the school could be being evacuated- it wouldn't surprise her given the incredibly lax health and safety regulations in place.

Harry looked nervous. His hand was clenched at his side. Hermione reached down and lightly pressed his hand, giving him a small smile when he looked up at her.

"This year," The Headmaster continued.

Please not something dangerous, please not something dangerous, please not something dangerous, Hermione chanted.

"We will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. And as a result of this Hogwarts will be home to more than just you."

That didn't sound too bad…

"So without further ado let me introduce-"

Hermione threw her schoolbag into her seat by the mirror, where it had been moved for ease of discussion with her special little project partner. She wasn't sure that she wanted to deal with him right now, if he was on the other side. Harry would be safe. That was what she had to keep in mind. He wasn't allowed to participate in the tournament, he didn't even seem to want to, unlike Ron. Gosh, she smiled to herself, he had practically fallen off his seat when the students from Beauxbatons walked in, but when Viktor Krum appeared- she was surprised he hadn't fainted. Still, she couldn't believe that Dumbledore would agree to such a dangerous competition. She hoped that deadly was simply a decorative word.

But Harry would be safe.

Hermione sighed and drew her wand from her robe. With a flick of her wrist the tarp covering the mirror was lifted and Tom appeared, sitting in his own chair by the mirror, deeply immersed in a particularly old looking book.

Heat and light swarmed round his feet at her actions and he looked up with a light smile. Show time. "Evening Miss. Granger." He said with a nod.

"Evening, Tom." Hermione blushed. Why did she always blush when he smiled at her? She had to admit that he did look gorgeous just sitting there. Crossed legged with his book held casually in one hand, leaning back in such a relaxed fashion. And for once he wasn't wearing his robes, just his shirt and tie, looking both boyish and mature at once. His looks weren't any excuse to blush, however. He was attractive but only on the surface really, she hardly knew him, she had no right to colour so furiously at the littlest bit of charm he showed.

But his eyes.

He wasn't shy about eye contact, she found. She hated it, she found.

It was a calculating gaze. He seemed to see more than was there. It was almost invasive and yet painfully blank. Dark and invasive and blank and it made her want to get closer so that she could finally identify just what colour his eyes were. What colour it was that made warm chills flash across her limbs. Clearly he was suspect. Those chills were warning her to be on guard. But she found herself craving them, unable to tear away, incapable of even trying. She wanted to want to try, though. And that was why she hated it.

He broke their shared gaze first, secretly scared of its power himself, but hiding it behind his perpetually passive mask. With a snap he closed his book and stood, making Hermione jump. She turned her gaze to the floor for a second before regaining herself. They were there to discuss work after all. "Anyway, since we're both here have you found anything new, anything useful?"

Tom hummed ambiguously as he went to put his book away on the shelf. Unwittingly, Hermione trailed his movements with her eyes, watching the way he carefully slid the book into place, his fingers trailing down the spine as he withdrew. Stop looking at him Granger for Merlin's sake!

"Well? What does hmm mean?" She asked, somewhat irately. Tom raised an eyebrow at her adoption of a rather bossy stance, all furrowed brow and power pose-y. She must be in a bad mood.

"What hmm means, Miss Granger, is that no, no I haven't. We've both scoured our libraries, stumbled upon the same passages from the same books and other inane mentions in various other texts. We've privately theorised, set some boundaries, finely combed our consciousness and our available resources for answers and we have gotten precisely…?" He raised an eyebrow again, expectantly this time.

Hermione folded her arms and pouted somewhat. "Nowhere." She finished quietly. The air around her grew heavier, more charged with her negative energy.

Tom had to hold back a laugh at how easy it was to get her knickers in a twist. Yes, she was very easy, and so interesting when ruffled, so bold, a true lioness. He would entice her out of her cage today and then he would tame her. "Nowhere. That's correct. Ten points to Gryffindor!"

She scowled. "So what do you suppose we do now?" Her mane began to stand on end.

The instant the question left her lips Tom was at the threshold of the mirror, bracing himself against its frame. "I propose a trade."

A thoughtful frown graced her face then. She knew he would ask to come through, there were no two ways about it. She also knew that she shouldn't let him, not with that look in his eyes, that dark spark, that ominous aura. She knew all this… but she wanted to at least hear his terms.

With a gulp, she stepped forward. He was so close now, if she reached out she could touch him, brush back the rogue strand of hair drifting out of place, tuck it in with the rest. Hermione maintained her unimpressed glare. "What, precisely, are you suggesting?"

Tom smirked. "I have something you want, Granger."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat but she kept up her mask. "And what is that?"

He pushed off from the mirror, propelling himself further into his room and rolling up his shirt sleeves for bravado. In spite of herself, Hermione leaned forward. What was he doing? Why did it require such…flare?

A second later she understood, and stood with her mouth ajar. He hadn't drawn his wand, he hadn't said a thing, and the book he was reading earlier flew into his hand.

His strained grimace grew into a smug grin at her reaction. Hook, he thought, with another wave of his hand. She caught the book as it came towards her. Line. She drew in a sharp breath as she took in the title. And sinker.

Tom gave her a minute to process what she had seen, slowly, nonchalantly, striding towards the mirror again. When she looked back up his nose was practically touching hers.

"What I offer you, Hermione, is knowledge."

His eyes were blue, and he was capable of incredible things.

 **A/N: So this took longer than expected, what with procrastinating and schoolwork and hating the first million drafts of this chapter. But it's finally here, I hope you like it. Hope it upped the ante. Tom can do wandless magic?! Yes because Tom is a GOD! Mwahahahaha! I love him I'm so sorry. And Hermione still battling her innermost desires... what could they be, I wonder. What indeed. Anyway, I promise I will finish this no matter how long it takes me because I love it. And I really enjoy writing it so yeah. Bye for now hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading! ~Mercy.**


	6. Apprehensions

The arte of wandless magicke, as it was so aptly titled, felt heavy in Hermione's hands. Not because it was particularly heavy, per se, but because she knew that if she opened it, if she eagerly studied its contents as she wished to, she would have to give him what he wanted in return.

She almost kicked herself as he uttered his final word "knowledge". Of course that was what she wanted, of course that was what he had. It was obvious. And it was stupid. And it was so very, very tempting. He could teach her how to do wandless magic- wandless, wordless magic! Maybe it was a little redundant given that she had access to a wand, but there was something so enticing about the idea of performing spells without one, a certain prestige. And if he could do that just what else could he do, what else did he know, what else could he teach her? It was a thrilling offer.

But did she trust him?

Not quite.

It unsettled her that he knew exactly what would tempt her to let him come through. She didn't even really know him. Didn't even know his last name, protecting it with a disturbing vehemence that she wasn't sure she understood. At first she had thought it was merely a power move, retaining anonymity and therefore dominance, but she couldn't imagine him being that petty. There was something else behind it. Then there was the darkness that surrounded him. His dark eyes, his dark hair, his dark smirk. Handsome, far too handsome for a fourth year, far too charming for a teenage boy, far too eloquent too. Altogether still too polished to be taken at face value.

She looked up at Tom, taken aback to find him still at the threshold of the mirror, peering intently at her, calculating her response to his offer. He looked hopeful, eager, inquisitive. The intensity of it made her lips dry.

But she had already made up her mind. She moved the book towards him, about to speak when he snarled and snatched the book from her hand, roughly placing it on the desk in his room before running a hand through his hair irately. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden chill that possessed the air. He was angry. Livid, in fact, and his frustration seemed to douse her, freezing her to the spot as he prowled back and forth before the mirror, thinking and occasionally shooting her a foul glance.

He was too angry to think. She was too scared to move.

Suddenly he stopped, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Granger- no, Hermione, I believe we are on a first name basis aren't we?" He said with a sweet smile, but still with a cold impatience. "We have been presented with a magical object that possesses the power to give us what we desire beyond all else. We may not understand why it has done this, but the fact remains that we have an opportunity, an opportunity that we aren't certain is permanent." As he continued his voice grew firmer, warmer, more soothing. There yet remained a condescending edge to it, like he was talking to an unreasonable child, but one could almost ignore it when he made so much sense. "I have been accommodating to your request that I remain behind the glass but my patience wears thin, Hermione. I understand your passion to understand the mirror, to break it down in your mind, to research and test and explore, but our efforts have come to naught. You're a competent girl, I'm sure you realise there is little more that we can find on this obscure relic, certainly there is not even a brief mention of it linking worlds, or places, as it appears to be doing now. To learn more we must take a risk. Now I've been good enough to offer you something I believe would be in your best interests to accept, I am adept at magic for my age as I believe you too may be and I am willing to teach you anything it is within my power to teach… You only need let me through, Hermione." He ended his plea with a soft, imploring gaze, attempting to thaw the frost he had cast between them with his sudden rage.

Hermione bit her lip. What could she say? I can't let you through. But why? Because you're too perfect, because you have a dark aura, because thinking about those eyes makes my knees weak and my stomach twirl and it makes me feel sick and unsafe and if I give in to it I don't know what I might do… She couldn't say that. Think, Granger, think! "But there are so many things we don't know-" She started feebly.

He scoffed at her weak rebuttal. "Are you afraid of something?"

"What?" She burst, incredulous.

"Are you afraid of me? Do I scare you?"

"No, you aren't scary in the least. I've dealt with much worse than arrogant teenage boys."

"But you don't trust me."

"Well, I… No. I suppose I don't."

"If I had wanted to hurt you I would have done it already Granger. There is nothing to stop me from simply overpowering you, but I would prefer if things went more smoothly than that."

Hermione scoffed. "I'd like to see you try."

"Oh you would, would you? Was I barking up the wrong tree when I offered you books? Is it me you want instead?" Tom smirked and gave her a quick once over. "Not the worst girl to overpower."

"You're vulgar Tom, and just so you know, I wouldn't condescend to let you kiss the ground I walk on."

"Your impetuousness shows you truly aren't afraid of me so just what are you afraid of?"

"N-nothing. I simply wish to take the proper precautions."

He spent thirty seconds or so examining her face, smirking slightly as he did so. Why did he always have to look like he knew something she didn't? "Ah." He said finally, curling his lips up in a spitefully smug grin.

"What, Tom? What is so fascinating in my features?"

"You aren't really afraid of me. You're afraid of what you might want, of where it might lead. You, Hermione, are afraid of yourself."

"Oh shut up already. I don't care what you think you know you absolute twat, because in reality you know nothing about me…and I know even less about you. Which is exactly why I don't trust you. I don't pretend to know what it is you think is waiting for you here, but I do know that you're desperate to find out. I do know you'll try anything to get through. And I do know that the only thing keeping you from barging through is not, as you would have me believe, some chivalrous notion of respect and virtue, but the unknown. You don't know what lies between you and your desire here. You don't know what would happen if you hurt me, what that would do to the connection. And you don't know what I'm capable of. So shut up, and let me think."

Hermione stormed back to her seat, desperate to put any extra space at all between her and that presumptuous arse.

In the meantime Tom stared, half in awe and half in anger. How dare she tell him to shut up! How the air had cracked with magic as she scolded him! How insolent of her, she who wasn't even a spec of dirt before him. How bold of her, she who was so much more interesting than he could've imagined. The residue of her anger lingered still where she had stood. He wanted to reach out and grab it, harness it, bend it to his will.

Her lip felt raw by the time she had finished contemplating their predicament. She couldn't stall this much longer. Tom was right, they had exhausted all available sources of knowledge, there was nothing else to do but test the boundaries and the purpose of the mirror. That or just never come back.

But that hadn't lasted long last time.

She wished there was someone she could really talk to about it all but Ron wouldn't understand why she had to come back, and Harry was still having nightmares, and telling anyone meant risking their involvement, their invasion of her sacred space. The library had no books on the mirror let alone what to do when a mysterious mirror boy asked to come through. No friends and no library. The only other option was… Of course! If she phrased it carefully. She was bound to learn something new about the mirror that way. It would buy her some time even if she didn't learn anything new. And in the meantime she would think over his proposal and exactly what to offer him in return.

"Tom."

"Hermione?"

"I'll consider your offer. But first I have someone I need to consult."

* * *

Dumbledore's office was as confused as always. Hermione loved magic, but she couldn't help but feel that the assortment of magical devices and artefacts that littered his desk was a tad excessive. She didn't like how small and lost she felt among the clutter of magical thing-a-ma-jigs and what's-it's, she didn't like how disorganised and haphazard it seemed, and for once she didn't like how the wise professor's eyes twinkled knowingly across from her.

"What brings you to my office, Miss. Granger?"

Hermione cleared her throat before she began, still buying time to try and organise the things she needed to say. "Well, sir, I was doing a bit of light reading the other day, about ancient magical artefacts, and I came across an object that rather intrigued me but there was little said about it."

His eyes sparkled omnisciently. "And what might that object be?"

"I believe that it's called the Mirror of Erised, professor."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at her behind his half-moon spectacles. It was a sterner look than she was privy to in her dealings with the great wizard. It made her feel a little exposed. "I see." Was his only response as he continued to scrutinise her. Did he know she had found it? Could he tell that she was lying? Well she wasn't really lying. Lies of omission were still lies though, when it came down to it. She shifted in her chair somewhat uneasily. After another painfully uncomfortable moment he lifted his searching gaze but the solemnity of his next words sent a chill down her spine. "A very dangerous object that is, Miss. Granger. Not to be treated lightly. What is it that you wish to know?"

"Well professor, I'm aware that its function is to reflect the deepest desires of the person looking into it but I wondered, sir, if it were capable of doing anything else?"

"As far as I know, no. It is an ancient artefact, its makers long forgotten and its true purposes unknown but to those forgotten makers." Hermione's heart sank. If Dumbledore didn't know anything else about it them she'd have to go back… "However," Her ears perked up greedily. "While it has been documented that the mirror reveals one's heartfelt desires it has never been properly tested by any magic folk. And over the years it has been lost and found again many times, as I'm sure you know." His eyes twinkle again. "So it is impossible to say what the mirror is truly capable of but I would still recommend caution to any who came across it."

"Why is that, professor?" She asked, heart pounding in her chest. Why should she be cautious? Was he warning her against going back? What should she do?

"That which we desire most is not always what we need most."

Hermione frowned. "Of course. But… it isn't dark magic, is it, professor?"

"It is impossible to say. On the one hand it is a very invasive and terrifying power, to reflect one's desires. On the other, it seems like quite a bit of fun to solve the riddles of our hearts, does it not?" He smiled with his final addition, casting away the austere atmosphere that had come over the room since Hermione had mentioned the mirror.

"I suppose it does. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity professor, I knew that if anyone could help it would be you."

"Not at all, Miss. Granger. Not at all. It is always a pleasure to help the students of Hogwarts find their way."

Hermione smiled at his suggestive words and wondered if he simply knew everything. Or perhaps, she thought, he works like a horoscope, making vague statements that are easy to apply to any situation. Or maybe a placebo, using his riddle like sentiments to make people realise things they already know. After all, if he really knew that she had found the mirror he would probably move it like he did when Harry discovered it, or at least he would make sure that she didn't go back, not if it were dangerous. These thoughts flew through her as she made her way out of the office, but just before she made it Dumbledore's soft, plating voice reached out once more.

"Oh Miss. Granger. One more thing before you go. I am slightly worried I may have given you an overly pessimistic view on the subject of pursuing desires. All I wish to say is that a cup overflowing, even if it be filled with the finest butter beer, causes a mess."

How useful.

 **A/N: It has been forever. I apologise, but I have been very busy with exams so I have my reasons! Thank you for all the lovely reviews so far and every favourite and follow- I love you guys! And do not despair I have the next chapter all ready to tweak and send out asap so if this chapter intrigued you at all you won't have to wait too long! I hope you're still enjoying this piece and if you can't wait for the next chapter check out my first ever one shot Made For Me, you might like that too... 3**


	7. Agreements

Recently Hermione Jean Granger had been…stressed.

Stressed because on October 31st her greatest fears were realised. Harry Potter's name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire. Her heart had nearly stopped. All at once she was confused and angry and upset and angry and she didn't understand how his name had gotten into the Goblet of Fire, how on earth the staff could allow him to compete, or how he was going to come out of it alive. More than that, though, she couldn't fathom what he'd done to deserve this fate.

To make matters worse Ron had decided to make it all about him and had been nothing short of an arse until he saw Harry face the Horntail, which was an immense issue in itself. To think he'd been jealous about Harry having to risk his life. To think he could turn on Harry so easily, assume the worst, and completely neglect to understand how it must feel to have escaped death so frequently, only to be thrust under its cloak once more.

But they had managed. Yes it had taken some bending of the rules. Yes she had stayed up until 2am practicing summoning charms with Harry. Yes there was a moment during the trial when she had thought, deep down, that she had lost her best friend. But they had done it. Harry had done it. And so she could maybe stop being stressed for a bit.

Although this lack of stress left her with more time to think about other things. Things she had been ignoring.

She hadn't gone back yet.

She wasn't sure if she should, now. Not with Harry to worry about. Moody would be there all the way, obviously, and now he had Ron and Sirius to support him too but she knew he would need her help as well. It would be selfish to go back.

Then again, Tom could teach her things. Brilliant things. Tom could make her stronger and smarter and more adept, more useful to Harry. With a sigh she slumped onto the library table, abandoning the essay she'd been working on. It was nearly finished anyway, and it wouldn't do to attempt critical thinking when her mind was so clouded. She just needed more time to think.

"Excuse me," came a voice with a thick Bulgarian accent. "May I join you?"

Hermione looked up and immediately cleared her throat to blurt out a hasty "not at all". Viktor Krum sat beside her, smiling sheepishly as he prepared his words. It was peculiar to see him like that. Whenever she'd seen him around Hogwarts before he had been sure, confident, imposing, wearing a stern and serious look and being trailed by a gaggle of giggling girls. She almost thought he had glanced her way a couple of times but she was certain she'd imagined it. Now here he was, awkwardly settling himself very close to her at an entirely empty table in the library and trading glances between herself and the floor.

"Your name, it is Hermio-ninny, no?"

"Y-yes." She stuttered, somewhat unable to process the fact that Viktor Krum was talking to her. "And you're Viktor Krum, obviously."

He laughed a small shy laugh that didn't seem to fit him. It was so soft and endearing however that it eased the atmosphere. He was just a human like her, and somehow seemed to be just as nervous. "I have seen you around the school. You always have a book with you and always are with Potter and red haired boy."

"That's me." She replied with an awkward half chuckle, inwardly cringing.

"I do not mean to pry but I was wondering if you are with either…"

"Oh, no. Of course not! They're both like brothers to me."

"In that case, Hermio-ninny I wonder if you might like to go to the yule ball with me?"

For the first time in a while Hermione forgot about the mirror.

* * *

First there was disappointment. Then there was anger. Now there was simply a faint spell of regret about Tom Riddle. Just when he had devised a way of testing the mirror's limits without risking his own safety she had taken off. If she had just accepted his offer he could see if there was some cap on the time one could come through. He could also give her what she wanted, strengthen his bond with the girl, gain her trust and ensure that the acquisition of his desire went smoothly. Tom had always been one for the charm offensive, and he had been willing to try with the girl. She was just too distrustful for her own good! But he had ceased being angry. It had been almost two months, she wouldn't be coming back, though the mirror remained. It was merely a missed opportunity, not the end of the world, there was still plenty working in his favour. He didn't need Miss. Granger or whatever secrets her world held.

Still. It was a shame. He almost missed-

He heard a crash around the same time he felt a forgotten warmth flood his room. A flurry of curses followed with more crashing and ripping and clashing. It was faint, muffled somewhat and as he turned to inspect the mirror he could see why; the cover on her side had started to slide off, letting through a gradually widening slit of light through until eventually he was faced with a sight more peculiar than the noise.

The room was littered with splinters and pillow stuffing. The large sofa was split in two and chunks of the fireplace lay in crumbs among some of the scattered embers. The bookcase at the back had toppled over and the light fixture overhead had crashed quite spectacularly into the floor. It was utterly devastated and in the middle of it all there was a girl.

There was a girl, in Hermione's seat. She had Hermione's silhouette and Hermione's voice but she couldn't have been Hermione herself; Hermione didn't wear dresses like that, she didn't wear her hair like that, and she certainly didn't cry. But then he hadn't seen her in over a month, so what did he know.

"Hermione?" He asked.

"Oh, hi Tom." She responded, only half turning to him, voice loud and chirpy but…off. She wasn't really crying was she? Her hands kept swatting at her face but she couldn't actually be wiping away tears, could she?

"What happened to your hair?" He asked, casually.

And just like that she whipped round to snarl at him. "What do you mean, what happened? I put it up. And I happen to find it very nice like this." He could see her face now, angry as it was. It was red too- raw. She really had been crying. Didn't excuse her for biting his head off, though.

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

An exasperated groan left her. "Boys! Boys are what's wrong with me."

"And what exactly did the entire male population do to distress you so?"

"They spoke."

"Seems a little harsh to condemn them for speaking, don't you think? I thought you were all about hearing people out anyway."

"Well some people need to keep their thoughts to themselves."

"Finally we agree on something." He murmured sardonically.

To his surprise Hermione actually laughed. A small chuckle that lit up her entire face beautifully. Not beautifully- just better than her puffy, tear-stained face. She rolled her eyes as she sunk back into her chair and drew her knees up to her chest, though she was still smiling, that small reluctant kind of smile that overpowers anger.

"You alright there?" Tom asked, more concerned for his own safety than hers. Was she mental? How could she switch moods so easily?

"Yes, I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's not fair to take it out on you. Just a good night gone wrong is all. Stupid people not saying what they mean and then blaming me for not understanding them. Ridiculous really."

He continued to examine her cautiously. "Was it Harry?"

Her head snapped up, alarmed by his use of the name. "What? How-? No. Ronald, actually. It usually is."

"He sounds like a bit of a prick."

"I wouldn't call…" Tom raised his eyebrow at her and she had to hold back a smile. "He's just a little difficult."

"I know plenty of those types. I call them pricks."

"You're a terrible human being Tom."

"Oh, Granger you have no idea." He smirked. His voice came out a lot huskier than he had intended too. Hermione didn't appear to notice but he made sure to turn the conversation away from anything suggestive very quickly. "But, um, why are you all dressed up? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh right. The Yule Ball was this evening. I got asked to go so… Tada! I take it you're unimpressed?"

"On the contrary, you don't look like a hideous tangle of hair with a human attached for once."

She sniggered at his comment. "Well sorry to disappoint but I was hoping to do this." She flicked her wand and her hair began to unwind itself from her updo, falling about her face and shoulders only slightly wavy rather than poofy due to the potion she'd used earlier. "Merlin that is much more comfortable."

Tom whet his lips unconsciously as he watched it fall about her, not quite sure whether his sudden wish to get closer was so that he could tug on her hair or push it back behind her ear. Either way the thought was pushed back before it could take root. He didn't want things like that. It was an intrusive thought. Unnecessary. Unwarranted. Irresistible.

God he needed to distract himself… "So who asked you to the dance?" He asked, starting himself with the utter pointlessness of his inquiry.

"Victor Krum? I don't think there's any chance of you knowing who he is, though he's quite well known here."

"How fascinating."

"You asked!"

"I did, I apologise for being rude."

"Thank you."

"So are you dating him? Is that why Roland was being so 'difficult'?"

"No, Ronald, and in a way. He was upset that this waif he'd been following like a lost puppy wasn't actually interested in him at all, and then thought it would be tactful to ask me to go with him instead. Only he decided to start with 'Hermione, you're a girl, you must need a date…'. I wasn't best pleased with that."

"Understandably."

"But then he just had to make things worse by causing a fuss at the ball. He said I was 'fraternising with the enemy', that I was being used and just generally acted like an arse all because he didn't want to acknowledge the fact that someone might actually want to spend time with me. Sorry, you probably couldn't care less."

"On the contrary- I'm intrigued by how stupid Richard is. I never knew a human could have less than two brain cells but he appears to be an exception. And I'm glad to see you back, no matter what it is you want to talk about."

Hermione smiled despite herself. For once she didn't want to second guess his words. "It's nice to be back."

"If I'm being honest I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Sorry about that. I've been…preoccupied."

"That is quite alright, I imagine that it's given you sufficient time to think over my offer?"

"It has."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I do want you to teach me how to do wandless magic, and wordless magic, and generally help me with my spellwork. I get the impression that you are a very talented wizard."

"I'm sensing a but."

"But I need to know precisely what you want in return."

His response was immediate. He knew what he would give her, he knew what he wanted back. The very topic had consumed him since she left. "I will give you five hours of lessons in higher forms of magic every week, guide your reading, and give you access to some of the rarer texts that I have in my possession so long as you promise to do your utmost to help me find what I desire where you are. This will include getting me around your Hogwarts undetected, helping me research, and, with your hopefully heightened magical abilities, helping to protect me from anyone who might stand in my way."

"Why would anyone want to stand in your way?"

He knew how he would answer that too. "I like rare things, Hermione. That and things other people don't want me to see. So much is hidden in the magical world, so much history overwritten, so many artefacts lost, so many spells untaught. Take this mirror, for example, or wandless magic." He frowned slightly. "People are so afraid of letting anybody learn anything new, or dark, or powerful."

His voice was passionate but quiet as he spoke and Hermione couldn't help but agree. He had never sounded so sincere before and it was beautiful, really. She understood how odd it felt to have magic censored in such a way. It had all seemed so beautiful and pure and welcoming when she had first arrived at Hogwarts, when she had first had confirmation that she was different. But as she grew older, as Voldemort became an increasing threat to her best friend, and as it became harder to tell just who the bad guys were, she had become somewhat disillusioned. It was a wonder, what with the barbarity of the tournament, that she hadn't turned on the magic world entirely.

"I understand that."

Tom looked up at her, a little bemused. He had expected to have to do more persuading. "You do?"

She nodded slowly, a slight grimace on her face. "Yes. Hiding things from people, whether for the greater good or not, is never a good idea really. In the end, whether it be a small hurtful detail, or a piece of forbidden magic, or a darker part of history, hiding things only hurts people more in the long run. So I accept your terms. But I want a wand bond so that you do not double cross me."

"Still not trusting me? Stubborn little witch aren't you? I accept your terms also."

"Thank you, but can we finalise it tomorrow? I've had a very long night, I need to clear up this mess somehow, and I would very much like to get some sleep. So-"

"I can clear it for you. If you'd like?"

Hermione frowned tiredly. Her eyes were sore from crying and pure exhaustion, her limbs felt suddenly much heavier than they should, and Tom's offer sounded so very appealing. But then- no! She wouldn't overthink this. "Yes please. I would like that."

A wide smile appeared on Tom's face as he stood. With a few steps he was on the other side, Hermione suddenly seemed to notice her mistake but he strode confidently up to her and lifted her to her feet before she could refuse. Her complaint died on her lips as Tom span her round. In that one motion his front was pressed lightly against her back and his wand arm was lined up against hers.

"Actually, let's count this as your first lesson shall we? A trial, if you will. The wand movement is simple, just like so." He guided her hand with his own, completing the motion three times. Hermione was very aware of his other hand resting on her shoulder, keeping her posture upright and holding her almost against him. A great warmth seemed to encompass her as he explained the movements and got her to pull out her own wand. She wasn't sure if it was just how close he was or if it was just from having stood up too fast but it felt heady and exciting. The sensation tingled like magic across her skin encouraging her movements, which Tom calmly and politely adjusted when she erred. For some reason it made her feel powerful.

And then his voice was right beside her ear. So close that she could feel his breath fade across her cheek. "Now repeat after me, without the wand, reparo maxima."

She couldn't help smiling to herself as she remembered fixing Harry's glasses when they had first met. "Reparo maxima."

"Very good Hermione. Once more just to be sure."

"Don't patronise me Tom. If I'd known it was this simple I wouldn't have asked for your bloody help."

"Ah, but you didn't know, and that's no way to talk to your professor. Once more please."

"Reparo maxima"

"Perfect. Now with the wand movements we practiced."

Hermione did so and instantly the tatters of the shelves and tables and sofa picked themselves up and pieced themselves back together. Tom still held her arm aloft and she felt a strange strength from the point he was touching. It felt incredible. She had never manipulated so many objects at once before and yet there they were, darting back into place at her will, smoothing over the traces of her anger, reminding her how brilliant magic was.

Tom's voice gently drew her from wonderment. "Impressive. You hardly needed any help at all. You might not be the worst person in the world to teach magic to."

Without thinking she turned to smile at him, still revelling in the success of the new spell, and found her face far too close to his own. Her eyes widened as she took in just how close he was. He raised an amused eyebrow at her expression. In that moment she wasn't sure whether she wanted to die or lean in to him more because obviously he was gorgeous and Circe he smelled so good but he was also insufferable and pretentious and what she wouldn't give to feel those lips- No. No, no, no. That wasn't right. She stepped hastily away from him, clearing her throat and uttering a polite thank you before gently ushering him back to his own side. He obliged without fuss but Hermione could have punched him just for the smug little face he was pulling. He was such an arse.

"Oh, Hermione." He added just as she was about to cover up her half of the doorway. "You will come back tomorrow won't you? I'll be very disappointed if you don't."

He still looked far too pleased with himself for her liking. Far too pleased. In return she presented him with her most charming smile, leaning in nice and close to the mirror before letting out a cheery "We'll see" and shutting him out. She just had time to catch the look of displeasure that crossed his face. What a sight.

 **A/N: Finally they agree on something, eh? And finally we get a brief moment of sexual tension! I hope you enjoyed this instalment, thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed or reviewed, your comments and support give me life, honestly!**

 **For those of you wondering about the limitations of the mirror; Tom can come through as he pleases so long as Hermione has taken off the covering, in that respect she has to be in the Room of Requirement for it to work and that's why Tom hasn't just barged through while she isn't there. Also he is scared of getting trapped on the other side, even if it means getting what he wants, so he kind of wants to use Hermione as a guinea pig. I hope that clears up any discrepancies!**


	8. Similarities

Classes, classes, classes. Hermione had never shied away from a few extra classes (with her last year providing adequate testimony to the lengths she was willing to go for knowledge) but getting tutored by Tom was a stretch even for her. It was as Ron might say "mental" amongst her commitments to her regular classes, her SPEW efforts, and to Harry, not to mention Krum, although he was generally content to study with her. Nonetheless it was undeniably worth it; she already felt stronger.

Tom was truly incredible with a wand. She saw in him the same diligence she applied to her own work. He was precise, methodical, and reasonable. Somehow he created the perfect balance of pressure and praise, goading her when necessary, tapping into her obstinate nature to make her want to prove herself to him, but backing off and applauding her handiwork when it was sufficient.

They were starting off small, with variations of spells she already knew. Small tweaks that required just that bit more concentration, just that bit more strength, gauging her competence she was sure, and getting her used to performing harder magic more frequently. Only after he had done this and after she had finished reading the book on wandless magic did Tom demonstrate the practice to her, hand layered atop hers as they chanted together, simple spells, dead simple, but so marvellous to see work without a wand. He had smiled when she levitated her first feather entirely on her own. She had beamed back.

He was learning too, as he taught, recommending books he had recently finished, working with her to refine both their understanding. When he learnt a new spell he would often show it to her, grinning cockily if when her eyes went wide. She had heard of a lot of the spells, they were sixth year, seventh year spells, she knew of them but hadn't thought of learning to use them yet. His practical ability, his actual, raw magic, was untouchable for a teenager. She couldn't help but hold him in awe.

It was only half way through January but he had shown her some truly incredible things. Nothing, however, seemed to resonate quite as strongly as the first spell he had uttered all those nights ago.

Reparo Maxima.

The six syllables hadn't stopped replaying that night. His voice, right by her ear, flooding her senses with…with…magic! It must have been. Remembering how it felt, the warmth of the new spell, the warmth of the power-his power, she was certain, coursing through her wand.

It was ridiculous really. Such a simple spell, when it came down to it. But the way he'd said it. Trilling his –rs, practically drawling the vowels, placing special emphasis on the x. It had sounded so much richer than it was. So much hot-

"Er, Hermione?" It was Harry's voice that recalled her. She stared up at him owlishly. "Have you been listening to anything that I've been saying?"

She paused for a second, regaining reality, before turning on him sharply. "Yes Harry, you've said it several times. The egg just keeps screaming no matter where you open it, but I can't think of anything else. I was sure it would have something to do with altitude given the connection to the dragons but I honestly don't know. At a stretch I would guess it might be an obscure language, something like parseltongue, but I've never read anything about any language as cacophonous as that."

Harry looked a mixture of sheepish and concerned at her outburst, seeming to sink further into the desk. Hermione sighed and settled herself. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap at you. I know you're just worried. I'm just worried. I want to help you, Harry, but I don't know how… I'm scared for you."

"It's okay. I know. I didn't mean to sound so judgemental when I asked. It's just- are you alright? I know you 'Mione. I know that you're probably juggling helping me, and helping Ron with his homework, and acing your own, and romancing Krum."

"Harry!" She held back a grin.

His own smile faded somewhat. "But I can't help thinking that there's something else. You seem…distracted these days. A little more worn. And you've been escaping to library with the cloak a lot recently- not that I mind, I trust you to take care of it but… There isn't anything you aren't telling me because you think it isn't important? You aren't keeping quiet about something that's bothering you are you?" His blue eyes were piercing as he broached the topic. Piercing but soft, merciful. So unlike his and yet so similar. Tom's eyes were unforgiving, they wouldn't allow her to lie, they wouldn't allow her to mask. Thankfully, she thought, as she softened her gaze even further, as she made her voice even more gentle, as she gave him one of her warm, sincere smiles, thankfully Harry's eyes let her lie.

"No, Harry, of course not."

* * *

It was not often that Tom felt impressed. His peers did not impress him. His teachers somehow managed to be even less remarkable. There were no wizards without his personal sphere, even, who managed to truly pique his interest. But Hermione. Hermione Granger. He had to admit that she was quite impressive.

He had been worried, after her dramatic exit, that she wouldn't concede. He lingered in front of the mirror the next day dreading that she would simply not show up, making a mockery of him once again. Something in him turned sour at the idea- it wasn't quite anger, more like an anticipatory disappointment. Something cold and grey and sludgy, like churning cement, ready to set once it settled in. But she had come.

And she had been so brilliant since.

Her theory was exemplary for the most part, if a little morally inclined in some cases where it would have benefitted her more to be harsh, the sort of thing that teachers lap up but that merely amused him. He could teach that out of her.

Her potions work too was extremely promising. She claimed to have made polyjuice potion in her second year and, despite its questionable legality he didn't doubt it for a second. What possible use she could have had for it however…? A question for another time, he decided.

Her practical work was difficult to categorise. Exceptional and yet, he felt, somehow restrained. There was about her an obstinate rigidity in her frame, it carried an authority all of its own; power in its unyielding perfection. Yet there was no joy in it, no feeling, only thought.

Her hair did not charge, he noticed, when she cast.

Still she was better than any of his knights thus far. Much better.

He hated to admit it but he was…impressed.

It only grew as he taught her. She was a quick study, mastering the basics rapidly and readily. She never complained, merely worked at something until she had perfected it. It was admirable.

She reminded him of himself in so many ways, so eager to prove, so hungry for the secrets of the magical world. He wondered what made her so interested, for him it had been his escape from the muggle world, something he was reminded of every summer. He wondered if maybe she was half-blood too. There was no way she could be muggle-born, they lacked even the most tentative of magical links and he was surprised they were even able to manage and expeliarmus without hurting themselves. No. She was far too powerful to be a muggle-born. She must be a half-blood, like him. Otherwise she wouldn't be so eager. Otherwise she would be just like the rest of those dim-witted oafs he had had to specially convince of his abilities. Then again, he was an exception to the rule, an heir. The heir. Of Salazar Slytherin himself.

She was special. But not that special.

She was useful too, a perfect guinea pig for testing the mirror. He had found by letting her into his room for lessons that the mirror seemed to be able to cope with extended visitation. He had confirmed that as long as both sides remained uncovered that they could travel between them at will. He wasn't sure yet if could venture beyond the bounds of the Room of Requirement, but he knew he'd be able to coax her out eventually and test it.

All in good time.

She helped him research too, on the founders and their possessions, following up leads on the diadem, the sword, the chalice and the locket. She knew the sword was in the castle. Her friend had summoned it through the sorting hat, apparently, but couldn't guarantee it would always work. Another oddity he didn't seek to question- too much like fanciful rumour. No matter, he wasn't too concerned about that particular artefact. She had brilliant theories about the diadem, of which she seemed most interested, the tragic story of Rowena's love capturing her tragically Gryffindor sensibilities. They had agreed that that was the most promising lead, Tom already had his own suspicions about the locket and didn't so much need help in that respect, but a female perspective, a keener mind, that could be just what he needed to find the diadem.

Teaching her had its other benefits of course, related to his relic hunting. He had his own soldiers, of course, but none so competent, none so useful should there be any complications in getting what was his. Hermione was obedient too, in a begrudging sort of way. The lessons made her feel indebted, and made her more trustworthy, and her innocent little mind seemed to think of it as a treasure hunt of sorts.

She thought he was a kindred spirit.

Knowledge for knowledge's sake.

She thought he was just curious.

So naïve.

He almost felt bad.

* * *

"I am glad we could do this." Viktor said, running his thumb over the back of her hand. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on her own.

Hermione turned crimson and started to look at her feet. "Me too." She responded, quietly, nervously.

Why was she still so nervous? The date was over, it had finished, everything to be nervous about had been and gone.

"You are always so busy, my Hermio-ninny. I am glad I convinced you to relax." His hand moved to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear and it lingered, barely brushing against her cheek for as long as decorum would allow. It fell back to holding her hand.

Hermione looked up at the contact, into those steady, warm eyes looking so deeply into her own. "Of course, anytime, for you."

He laughed, deep and rumbling, and his smile crinkled his eyes like a smile should. Not at all like- No she wouldn't think of him right now.

"Anytime you are not studying, or worrying, or working on something, yes?"

It was her turn to laugh, properly, in a way she hadn't laughed in a while. Viktor was so sweet. So understanding. So funny. So cute. So perfect. Why was she so nervous?

"You are so beautiful when you laugh." He said, before she could come up with a retort to his teasing.

She didn't know what to say now. Should she compliment him too? Thank him? There were so many compliments to give, what should she choose? Would he think she was just doing it in turn? Would she sound vain if she thanked him?

She never got to find out.

With a nervous breath of his own Viktor had raised his hand once more, this time to cup her cheek, and gently drawn her towards him, in order to give her a sweet, longing, delicate kiss.

Her first kiss.

* * *

Tom shut his book with a loud thwack. "You're late."

"Sorry." Hermione, murmured, looking especially red in the cheeks as she removed her jacket. She dressed so differently from the girls he knew. He supposed it was a symptom of her world, wherever it was.

But he had long grown accustomed to her peculiar weekend wear, what was more concerning to him at present was the lack of excuses, or anger, at his, admittedly unfair, reproach. She was, after all, only ten minutes late. Her compliance made him more agitated.

"Sorry? I willingly give my time to you, to teach you, to elevate you, and you think a simple sorry is adequate to erase the time wasted?" He was goading her on purpose, unsure what her shy, demure demeanour meant. She looked almost guilty, and yet, evidently didn't care that she was late as she threw herself across her chair. He suspected that the only reason she had bothered to lift the curtain was because it had become a force of habit to her as she stared, rosy cheeked, into space.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes finally registered him. "Yes? Oh, yes. Sorry. I did tell you I might be late today. But I've done all the reading you told me to do, and I was able to perform a Patronus Charm the other day for a full minute. Though it didn't look very effective, I've definitely improved." She hurried to take out the books he had lent her from her bag as she rambled on. It never failed to amuse him how quickly she could switch her focus.

"Very well," He sighed, gesturing for her to cross over. "we'll pick up where we left off last time, shall we? Show me what you can do."

Without missing a beat Hermione passed him the book and took a step back into the wider space. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and as she did so Tom couldn't help but notice the blush that rose to her cheeks once more. Whatever memory she was using had to be embarrassing, judging from that face.

"Exspecto Patronum." Immediately a thin silvery wisp sprouted from the tip of her wand, she kept her eyes closed, however, scrunching up her features in concentration. It was perfectly performed, her stance mimicked that in the book to perfection, but she lacked the feeling needed to compress the silvery mist into a corporeal form. No matter how embarrassing her memory was, it clearly wasn't happy enough. She opened her eyes after a few more seconds, her entire face lighting up at the sight, and the patronus seemed to grow a little denser. When she turned with a smile to see Tom's calculating gaze, however, it seemed to crack, and Hermione fell to nervously biting her lip in order to keep it together just a little while longer.

It was no use, Tom thought. "That's enough."

It evaporated. Hermione looked down at her feet. She really wasn't herself today.

"Exspecto Patronum." Tom called, lazily, mockingly. A white snake slithered slowly out of the air. Hermione gasped in awe at its solidity, its perfection. Her bright eyes followed its path with pure admiration. The expression on her face when he performed such spells never failed to produce a smug smile on his own.

She truly loved magic, just like him.

With an arrogant flick of his wand he sent his patronus to coil round her leg and up to her shoulders, expecting her to scream or flinch. Instead she laughed, ducking her head as it slunk under her hair and round the back of her neck. So she wasn't squeamish. But she was ticklish…

Tom docked that information for later before dispelling the silvery snake, though he wasn't sure when he'd need it.

Hermione stared back at him. "Wow."

"Wow?"

"I've never seen a patronus up close before. That was incredible."

"Thank you, glad I could impress- wait. Do you mean to say you have seen a patronus before?"

"Um, yes." She responded, nervously, somehow, as though trying to gauge how much to say. "My friend Harry, he learnt how to cast one last year."

What possible use could a third year have for the patronus charm? "I thought he wasn't particularly adept." She frowned. "From what little I've gleaned of your occasional rants."

"Oh, right. Well actually he's brilliant at defensive magic, has a unique knack for it." Something about her tone suggested that was where that strain ended. "But anyway, I'm not quite sure what I'm doing wrong. How do I make something like that?"

"Nothing, really is wrong. You pronounce it correctly, your wand work is brilliant. However it could be the memory you're using. It needs to be as positive as you can make it. Are you certain it's the happiest one you've got?"

Hermione coloured again, reverting back to the state she had only just gotten out of. "Um, I think so. I've tried lots of different ones, but that's the furthest I've gotten."

"Well what is it?"

"I'm not telling you!" She snapped. Then, noticing Tom's suggestively raised eyebrow recalculated her response. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"A trade? I don't know, might not be worth it. Although it does seem quite sensitive… You didn't lose your virginity, did you?" He grinned spitefully.

Hermione fumed. Merlin, there she was!

"You vulgar git! You actual prick! How dare you cast aspersions on my sex life! You know absolutely bugger all about me and you want to shame me for something that I haven't done- that we are both far too young to do? You're really sick you know that. And you should be ashamed of yourself Mr. I'm too brooding and mysterious to give you my last name." She started to wordlessly levitate pillows and fling them at him. Tom could barely contain his laughter at her anger, at the fact that the articles on his shelves- no the very shelves themselves- were quaking in the wake of her anger, as he lazily undid the damage she was doing to his furniture. "Even my own friends don't have the right to make such a disgusting joke, but you with your smug face, and your arrogant, flippant personality, and your gloomy, depressing aesthetic, you dare time and time again to be an utter pig! Mark my words Tom, if you don't learn to behave like a gentleman I will leave, promises and wand be damned!"

With a huff she finished, displeased to find that her work had been entirely reversed by the boy who still sat smiling amusedly at her.

Without a word he stood, taking only two quick steps to meet her. Before she could step back one of his hands had wrapped round her waist and he used the other to tilt her chin up to face him.

"I apologise." He said, simply, sweetly. Hermione was frozen in his arms, suitably taken off guard if the rate of her breathing was anything to go by. He couldn't quite read her eyes, though. They weren't frightened, nor angry, just wide and waiting. Waiting for what? Probably not what he planned on saying next. "You're much too prudish to have lost your virginity."

"You arse!" She exclaimed. And suddenly she was struggling against his hold, eyes losing their anticipatory sheen and turning feral.

"Come, come now." He chided, using her wriggling against her to turn her round in his hold, one arm still firmly wrapped around her waist and pulling her against him. She stopped moving once he brushed back her hair to talk directly into her ear. "If you want me to be a gentleman then I'll show you how it's done."

"What!"

"Shut up and concentrate." She did. He suspected she hated herself for having obeyed so readily. "Now raise your wand and cast the spell."

"This isn't going to help."

"Do it." She did.

"Exspecto Patronum." A thin wisp just barely appeared in the air.

"Pathetic. Again."

"Exspecto Patronum." It was slightly stronger but not much.

Tom sighed and leaned closer to her. "Close your eyes and think. Reach for a moment where you felt truly accomplished. Where you got full marks on a test. Where one of your professors complimented you. Where you hugged someone or something…" He was running out of ideas.

"Not helping, Tom." She opened one eye.

"Eyes closed!" He hissed. "If there's really nothing try picturing something you want. Something you really want, mind you, not just the next book you're 'simply dying' to get."

She elbowed him gently in the ribs. He chuckled despite himself before regaining his serious attitude.

"Picture what success is to you. Picture yourself having already accomplished the patronus. Picture yourself as Minister for Magic, or your poxy SPEW organisation gaining steam." She didn't rebuff him like last time he'd poked fun at her knitted socks. He could tell she was focused now and he withdrew slowly, fingers grazing her t-shirt before losing contact. He waked around to face her fully, trying to discern her thoughts. What made Hermione Granger happy? What did she want? The wisps seemed to be congealing now, slowly, but definitely coming together. "Find your happy place, Hermione. Find it and stay there. Grip onto it tight. Don't let it go, you're almost there." The form was beginning to take shape now. It was long and smooth. But it had no defined edges just yet. "You're doing well Hermione. Excellent in fact. Try just that little more. You can do this." It was nearly there, he was getting curious now. It almost looked like- but no, it wouldn't be. "I believe in you, Hermione."

And there it was- it was… It was an otter.

It…suited her, he supposed. The contrast of the supposedly cute creature and the ferocity with which it could get what it wanted.

At his silence Hermione couldn't help but peek, and exclaimed when she did. "Tom! I did it!" Her smile was radiant. She ought to be proud. It was a devilishly difficult spell. For some reason he felt drained seeing it.

"Well done." The otter continued to spin around her with joyous abandon and she followed its movement with the same energy that she had in watching his slither round. "That's enough of that for today however." He added. The otter dissipated.

"Right." She nodded shyly, still beaming.

"Can I ask what you thought of that time?"

"No. I don't think so." Her voice was calm and teasing but her eyes refused to meet his.

"How predictable. And I apologise, by the way, for the virgin comment. You do take some firm encouragement sometimes. But I hope you see that it's worth it." He cleared his throat, avoiding her suddenly soft glance. Then he moved swiftly to his bookshelf. "Now, we've covered the majority of the defensive spells that are on the Hogwarts curriculum. I'd like to move you on to some offensive spells if you wouldn't mind, however I'd like you to read this before we start to appease your moral compass."

She looked at the book he shoved in her hands with reserve. "I've read it."

"Really, you?"

"Yes. I picked it up last year from the library, mind you a much older version." She wrinkled her nose.

"Well you must be confused. This is a first edition I received as a gift for Christmas. However I suspect your expression will remain the same once you've finished, you're one of those prickly people that gets upset about these things, label it dark magic and get all antsy. Honestly, you're the worst- as sensitive as a Hufflepuff, as stubborn as a Gryffindor, and as proud as a Slytherin. Your only redeeming trait is your Ravenclaw intellect… Hermione?"

She wasn't paying attention to his jibes. She was looking at her feet with a frown, thinking. At the sound of her name she picked her head up and plastered on a painfully fake smile. He couldn't be bothered to unpack the storm of emotions going on- probably concerning the morality of practising such spells, so he didn't comment.

"Yes, sorry. I must have been mistaken, but I'll read it through."

A sullen silence fell between them.

"Excellent." Tom diverted. He couldn't stand her silences. They were so obnoxiously filled with her unspoken thoughts. "Now- what spells do you know?"

Hermione enthusiastically fetched her textbooks from her bag and settled down round the coffee table in Tom's room. Always closest to the fire, always rattling off information at the speed of light.

She was difficult. She probably had as many secrets as he did, he was starting to discover, with the way she so carefully chose her words, and so terribly lied. Only she didn't quite realise the similarities yet. Yes, she was tricky, tempestuous, troublingly complex at times, but as Tom watched her spill out her theories, as he scanned the way her eyes burned relaying her ideas, something in him felt compelled to let her stay.

Just to see what would happen next...

 **A/N: Some more Krum for you as I am a sucker for cute little interactions with him, and some bond building between Tom and Hermione! Was it necessary for Tom to grab her by the waist? No, perhaps not. Did I enjoy every second of it? Yes, yes I did. I hope this was a good update, I have more of a sense of where the story is headed now so I should be able to upload a couple more chapters before the end of September! Hope you enjoyed this update! Please let me know what you think and if you pick up any inconsistencies- I'm hopeless! Much love- Mercy.**


	9. Secrets

At the top of the tower Hermione had to catch her breath. She wasn't unfit, but in her excitement she hadn't realised just how quickly she had been walking up the stairs.

It was mid-February now and so the last sprinklings of snow helped to cool down her overheated body, as well as clearing the tower of Ravenclaws.

She was here to find her, the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw. They had exhausted their research and found the best course of action to be to confront the daughter of Rowena. She had stolen her mother's diadem in jealousy and run away to Albania. On her deathbed her mother had sent a young man to find her, seeking reconciliation. He found her. There were variations of what happened after that, mostly ancient, lost to time, but they all ended the same. Most wizards and witches had long forgotten the story of The Grey Lady, or didn't care to hear it.

Most of the folklore pointed to its being in Albania, but neither she nor Tom could undertake such a trip without at the very least confirmation that it was there. So here Hermione was, trying her luck, driven by curiosity more than anything else. What had happened to it, and her, after all was said and done?

Tom claimed to have come across Helena here before, but never got the opportunity to talk. Hermione doubted she'd get to see her, let alone ask her any questions, but for once she was completely content to do as he said. She needed the air up here. Cold and unforgiving air to blast some sense into her. There was still too much going on. She needed some space from it all. Some time.

Time.

That was the worst of it.

He had called it a first edition. The book was almost half a century old.

At first it had just been a silly, nagging suspicion but she was sure now. Checking the books that Tom lent her seemed evidence enough, then for the first time she noticed how stiff and antiquated his clothes were. Why had she never noticed that he wore tailored trousers on weekends? She supposed she had just thought him smart and sensible, a no nonsense sort who just happened to dress like an office worker permanently. It didn't help that everything in the wizarding world was practically steeped in out-datedness. But why had she not seen it! She was bound now, by her word and her wand, she regretted being so cautious of him, and somehow regretted not being cautious enough.

She was still too scared to ask him the date, afraid that he would catch on. For some reason she didn't want him to know that she could be from his future.

Not to mention that the time factor added a whole new layer to the concept of her heart's desire.

She had been thinking about it. Knowledge was just as attainable here, though the teachers might refuse to teach her advanced spells and couldn't tutor her one on one. Were the books he had only available in that time? Did they go out of print? Or was it just his particular tutelage that she needed?

He did seem to be able to understand her thought processes with peculiar ease, and never failed to get her to perform perfectly…

Like with the patronus charm.

That was a problem in itself.

She had tried what he said, thinking of something she wanted. Something that would make her happy, as opposed to something that had.

Harry hadn't worked. Neither had Ron- that was destined to be a minefield, however. Even Krum's kiss, fresh in her mind, still ghosting her lips, hadn't been quite enough.

But him…

It had been like that night, only amplified. "I believe in you Hermione."

She wasn't sure if she'd just imagined him saying that but it didn't matter in the end. All that mattered was that it had worked. He had worked.

What did that mean?

What did any of it mean?

Hermione huffed in the cold air, beginning to feel the chill manifest in her bones. Everything had to be so complicated. Harry's life being on the line. Krum's faithful attentions. The seed of doubt Ron had planted in her ear. Ron in general being disorganised and tactless as ever. Harry trying to bear the brunt of everything on his own. She still wasn't sure he was telling her everything about his recurring Voldemort dreams. Tom on top of it all. His work, her work. And now meddling with time and possible paradoxes, and why Tom anyway, what was it about him, if she could clear up just one thing she wanted to clear up that!

She unceremoniously slumped against the railings of the observatory tower with a groan.

Did she say she'd needed this? Being left alone with her thoughts seemed the worst possible thing in retrospect.

"Your distress is upsetting me." The voice was low and regal. Hermione tensed at the sound.

"I'm sorry?" She swivelled on the spot, eyes searching, searching amongst the snow and air for the speaker. Was it-

"Your distress. I can feel it. Was that your plan? To depress me out of hiding?" Suddenly Hermione made out a subtle distortion in the air against the railing opposite her. It must be.

"Helena Ravenclaw? The Grey Lady?"

A sigh. "Yes. It is me you wanted correct? If so, the least you can do is ask your questions quickly and then leave, I come here to get away from people, not to be pestered by them."

"I- I-" Hermione didn't know what to say. She knew the diadem would be a sensitive issue. So would questions about what had happened. She didn't want to upset her. "I'm sorry."

"For disturbing my sanctuary with your emotions or for coming unprepared?"

"For what happened to you." She said quietly.

"Oh? So you know my story little witch?"

"I know what I have been told of it. And I pity your fate, and I am sorry for you. For what happened to you."

The ghost's outline shifted slightly. "Thank you." A silence fell between them. That wasn't necessarily a bad reaction, thought Hermione.

"You were in love with him weren't you?" She blurted. That was bad. That was a stupid thing-

Another sigh, more anguished than irritated this time. "Yes… I loved the man who led me to my death."

Now Hermione really didn't know how to continue. It would be rude to bring up the diadem. It would be silly. She didn't care about it right now. Not now that she could see Helena, or at least make out her shape between the falling snow. She forgot sometimes, that the ghosts were real, had been alive once, had experienced life and love and pain. She wanted more to embrace her than anything else.

"I'm sorry he treated you that way." Her voice was quiet. "He shouldn't have done that."

"You know what love makes you do, do you not?"

The question was sudden, Hermione didn't know how to answer. "Me? No, I've never been in love."

"Is that so? Your sighs tell a different story." Hermione started to bite her lip. Helena chuckled. "Does he make you question your sanity? Do you do things for him, because of him, that you wouldn't normally do? Does he make your heart race when you think of him?"

"I don't-"

Helena turned and floated closer to Hermione so that she could finally make out her face. She smiled sweetly. "You are not the first to find me here. And of those you are not the first to feel my pain." She raised one of her hands to play with a strand of Hermione's hair, squinting at it in thought. Recognition flitted across her features a second later. "Ah, it is coming back to me now. They all seek the diadem, but he stole it from its burial ground. You have the same aura and I remember now. How fun! Would you like to know where he put it?"

"Where who put it?" She shivered. It wasn't the cold.

"More interested in the boy than the treasure. Hmm. He'll be so pleased with you, if you find it first, you know. Maybe he won't turn out so bad if you give it to him. But then, perhaps you already have. Maybe you made him the way he is."

"Who? I haven't made anyone any different. Certainly I doubt anyone would change if I gave them the diadem. I can't give it to anyone anyway, I don't even know where it is."

She laughed airily, letting go of her hair and leaning closer. Hermione was struck suddenly by her ethereal beauty, the lavish nature of her gown, her long flowing hair. She found herself drawn in, hanging upon her every word despite not understanding.

"Seek the room of things forgot if you but have the will, there you shall find the diadem that sadly did me kill, beneath unwanted memories, lost things that seek no finding, under the dust of centuries, though time there is not binding."

"What do you mean I-" She was cut off by a blast of wind pelting snow into her eyes. Her blurred vision allowed The Grey Lady to vanish before she could ask any more. Frantically Hermione repeated what she had said over and over in her head, racing down the stairs to find herself a quill and some parchment.

The other Gryffindors eyed her warily as she stormed into through the common room up to her dorm. Without taking off her extra layers she set to writing out the riddle that Helena had left her.

"Seek the room of things forgot if you but have the will, there you shall find the diadem that sadly did me kill, beneath unwanted memories, lost things that seek no finding, under the dust of centuries, though time there is not binding."

She whispered it allowed to herself once it was down, puzzling over the words. She felt sorry for the ghost but honestly. How was she supposed to go about tackling this?

Her first thought was to ask Tom. She knew she ought to show him. They were doing this together, and Hermione herself had no use for the information. He was the one who really wanted it. Then again-

Maybe you made him the way he is.

The words had made her feel sick for some reason. It felt like a premonition. Of what?

With a deep breath she pushed it to the back of her mind. What Tom didn't know could only be an advantage to her. It was nearing the date of the second challenge anyway. She had to focus on Harry. Tom and his treasure hunt be damned!

* * *

Answers. All she needed right now was answers!

Harry and Ron lay slumped against the desks in the library, offering nothing my negativity to her musings.

They knew they were dealing with the black lake. They knew it would likely involve the merpeople. But other than that they had nothing.

Harry could not survive underwater that long, Hermione had looked up every enchantment she could think of but the spells were too nuanced, too finicky for a fourth year (which was precisely why Harry shouldn't even be allowed to participate!) and she couldn't think up any alternatives at this point. It was too late, she was too stressed, and her two friends were just hopeless.

A part of her had been tempted to ask Viktor for help, but she couldn't do that. It would end up either giving him or Harry an unfair advantage over the other and she ideally wanted neither to have that.

But there were no answers here!

She had looked. Over and over she had looked. But now she was tired and scared and wanted someone anyone to help her!

Ron and Harry continued to flick lazily, hopelessly through the books in front of them. Hermione's heart clenched uncomfortably. Why did it always have to be Harry?

If it had been someone like Tom he could have taken it head on, he could have approached each challenge as arrogantly as he always did and would relish the chance to prove himself- to win "eternal glory". And if he got hurt? The world would be a better place for it perhaps. But Harry. Harry who was like a brother to her, Harry who just wanted a normal life, Harry who didn't ask for any of this and never would-

Wait Tom.

Tom would know something at least. He had to. It wasn't yet curfew, she was sure she would find him up there, he liked to stay up late most days. And he would know. Though she had reservations about that. After their last interaction she was beginning to suspect it was not space that separated them but time. First edition, he had said. She had checked, that book was released half a century ago. She had already read it. And it did deal with some less than savoury topics. By going back there was a chance she was changing the course of history, the implications were endless…

Still, for Harry, she had to try.

She steeled herself. She had to try.

Just as she was about to raise the boys from their stupor, however, Moody appeared before them.

"Granger, Weasley." He announced gruffly. "Get yourselves to Professor McGonagall's office. She wants to see you."

Harry got up to go with them. Moody hadn't said his name.

"But Professor-" Hermione started. It was so close to the challenge, they didn't have time to waste, and she certainly didn't want to leave Harry alone with Moody. Not now. Harry seemed to trust him but after the unforgivables, and the ferret incident… He wasn't in Hermione's good books.

His impatient voice cut her off without so much curtesy as to look at her. "Not you Potter."

Hermione sprang to protest again but Harry held up a hand calmly. "It's alright 'Mione. You've been up helping me as much as you can. There's nothing we can do. Go see McGonagall. Just promise you'll meet me in the morning." He looked so worn out. It broke her heart to see him that way.

"Of course, Harry. We're not going to just leave you, we'll be there. And I'll have something by then I promise!"

Ron put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning mate. Stay strong and stuff."

Harry smiled weakly at Ron's rejoinder.

"Off you go!" Moody interjected again, already slinging an arm round Harry to cart him off. Hermione could practically feel his glass eye trailing their movements.

"Do you really think we'll find something?" Ron asked once they were alone in the corridors.

"I don't know. But I'll try my best. I have to go somewhere after we see McGonagall. If I can't find an answer there I don't know what we'll do." She shuddered. Ron placed a comforting hand on her shoulder again. Her eyes were big and glossy when she looked back at him. "I'm really scared Ron."

"Me too." It was simple. It was small. But it was what she needed. Just to know that someone else was feeling that way. "But we can't give up hope yet. If anyone can find a way to keep Harry alive it's you."

"Thanks Ron." She smiled.

They walked the rest of the way to McGonagall's office in silence. The door opened for them. And then there was just cold.

* * *

With a stuttering motion of her wand she unveiled the mirror, still shaken from the experience in the lake. Honestly, putting unsuspecting victims in a freezing lake with merpeople- where were the consent forms, the liability contracts? The wizarding world really had some catching up to do in some places. Still there were a lot of benefits to magic and she was hoping she could reap some of them once she found Tom. She wasn't certain he could help her as much as Madame Pomfrey, but she hated the infirmary. Second year had not left a positive impression on her.

Besides, he was expecting her today. And she didn't want to put him in a foul mood for next time.

What she found was confusing. His side was open, he had clearly been waiting for her, but he wasn't in his usual seat by the mirror. She had expected him to be sitting expectantly like a disapproving parent waiting for their child after curfew. She had expected scolding and an argument over her inability to be anywhere on time. She had expected anything but the silence.

"T-om." She called, or at least tried to, in her frozen, croaky voice. "Are you th-ere?"

She stood at the threshold sputtering for a second, trying to peer further into the room. It wasn't like him to leave his space unguarded, she didn't quite trust it. Then again, she thought, she had never really looked around his side much.

"T-om!" She tried again, a little louder. There was still no answer.

Hesitantly, and with a shiver still in her steps, she hobbled over to his side. She noticed that instead of feeling icy as it usually did, the room actually felt rather warm, homely, even. She noticed that the armchair he always sat in was angled to face the sofa in her room where she usually sat. She noticed that is wasn't black or navy as she had always thought but that telling slytherin green. His bookshelves were made of rich dark wood, highly polished and radiating wealth. She had never gotten the chance to scour his books before but she wasn't too surprised at the prevalence of dark magic volumes, the kind that lined the restricted section. A lot of them looked ancient, all bound in hardcover and well loved, while at the same time bearing the markings of being well-studied. She dared not touch any. The rest of the room was dark, lit only by the fire and an ornate, black chandelier overhead. In one corner there appeared to be a potion station but she had never seen Tom brewing anything, the thought of him getting his hands dirty in the least was almost impossible for her to conjure. But then so were a lot of things about Tom.

Certainly she had never thought she would see him asleep, but as she turned to leave before he returned she found him spread across his own sofa, hidden from view from the vantage of the mirror but in plain sight from the opposite side.

For a moment the sight made her seize up, scared that he had seen her. Once she recognised the calm set of his features and the steady, unpressured rise and fall of his chest, however, she relaxed. He looked so serene. Tom never looked serene. He always looked annoyed or cocky or exasperated or handsome. In repose he looked like an entirely different person; boyish, peaceful, vulnerable. You wouldn't think he could hurt a fly, wouldn't even be able to comprehend the extent of his abilities, not from that face.

The room felt a little warmer after that, and as Hermione looked around at the dark, mysterious décor she felt at odds with herself. Did she even know this boy at all? Was it all just a façade? Because the boy laying asleep on the sofa, with his top button undone and his sleeves rolled up, his hair in impeccable disorder, for an instant reminded her so much of Harry. Of Harry who was sweet and sacrificing and so very, very different from Tom. Of Harry who would rather burn dark magic books than inhabit the same room as them. Of Harry who depended too much on himself and who sometimes needed to be reminded that there were people out there who would stand by his side, that he wasn't alone, that she would die for him. She looked at the boy who looked so innocent in his sleep and wondered if maybe he wasn't so powerful, or so dark, or so wrong, as this room would have one believe. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, he needed her too.

She hadn't realised that she had wandered closer, now able to distinguish his eyelashes, see every shadow cast on his marble features. He always looked so cold and harsh but now she thought he looked warm, soft, cute. For a second Hermione thought she would rather like to kiss him.

Then she sneezed.

Her whole body seized up again, sending the previously subsiding shivers back up her spine. Her eyes were fixed on Tom's face with rabid attention. She knew he looked calm now but she wasn't sure how he would react to finding her face mere centimetres from his if he woke. Luckily, he didn't stir, and Hermione let out a slow, ragged breath before standing up and turning to leave.

As she did, the cloak she held around her caught the edge of a book that had been lying on his desk and knocked it to the floor. Tom remained asleep. With a frustrated sigh she bent to pick it up, worried that he would be able to tell she'd been nosing if he saw it on the floor. She had escaped his scolding so far tonight and was not willing to jeopardise that now. Just as she was about to place it back, however, she caught the glint of gold lettering, lit by the flames glow.

Her eyes went wide with terror.

A chill completely detached from the lake engulfed her senses.

Every neuron in her brain screamed for her to run, to hide, to turn back and never return, to do anything but what she did.

She gasped.

And Tom Marvolo Riddle opened his eyes.

* * *

Her features were deathly pale. She was shivering, her hair flattened and shinning with damp. Her lips were practically blue. None of this, however, seemed to be what had her frozen to the spot as he sat up to face her.

"Y-you." She uttered, a harsh, poignant whisper.

Tom was confused, groggy and just beginning to feel a spark of anger at having his room invaded without permission. "Me? Hermione what are you doing in here?" He rubbed his eyes to dispel the sleep still weighing down upon him. When he stopped he was greeted by the sight of a shaking wand pointed squarely at his face.

"You b-bastard! You dis-gusting, loathsome r-reptile!" Her teeth clashed together as she spoke. She was evidently freezing, and soaked to the bone, but she had discarded the robe she had been wearing in preference of threatening him.

Still baffled, Tom stared blankly at her. The anger that had been born merely a moment ago now seethed within him. How could she dare to point her wand at him? After invading his space? If anyone should be angry it was him!

"Hermione." His voice was low, heavy with warning. "Put down your wand."

"Shut up! Sh-ut up!" She cried. "Don't you dare speak to me Tom Riddle!"

Riddle. How did she- Suddenly he took note of the thin black book in her hand- his diary. But why was she so angry about his name? She couldn't have wanted to know it that badly. If anything he should be the one yelling at her. Touching his things! Who the fuck did she think she was?

"Hermione I-"

"No! No, T-Tom. I don't want to hear it!" Her voice was hoarse now and she coughed roughly in between some of her heaving breaths. Her eyes, though, that was what really scared him, angered him. Her eyes looked mad. They were hurt, accusatory, brimming with unshed tears, and yet, and yet so full of conviction, of intent, of duty.

She was going to kill him.

"I'm s-sorry Tom. But I can't let you go on." A single tear fell from the corner of her eye and he was surprised it didn't crystallise on her cheek.

She wouldn't have the guts.

She took a deep breath. "Av-"

Tom lunged, knocking her off her feet before she had the chance to finish the words. The air was knocked out of her and she lay, gasping, on the floor, clutching her chest, while Tom summoned his wand. Her own wand lay useless in her flailing grip, still gasping and writhing and coughing beneath him. He ripped the wand from her hand and threw it across the room, placing his against her chest.

"Petrificus Totalus. Silencio." He muttered with practiced ease. She stopped moving instantly and no more angered utterances left her mouth.

Nothing could be heard apart from his own breathing, short and rapid from the stress of the brief altercation.

"What the fuck, Granger?" He managed.

Standing, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, not for a second taking his eyes off of the immobile form. She had been weak and he was certain she didn't yet know how to break out of a spell used against her but the pure determination in her eyes, the resolution with which she had begun the killing curse, left him unsure of anything.

She was only fourteen. He was only fourteen. She shouldn't even know the killing curse, let alone have resolve enough to perform it on someone her own age. It made no sense. Her of all people, with her bright, Gryffindor eyes and her soft, Gryffindor smile, and her proud, Gryffindor hair. Granger wasn't a killer. But she wanted him dead.

Why?

Without a word he levitated the girl against the side of his sofa. Her eyes continued to hold the cold, hurt expression they had even in their immobility. He crouched beside her and turned her face so it aligned directly with his, then he placed the tip of his wand against the side of her forehead. "This is going to hurt." He declared. He wasn't sure why he cared to warn her. Maybe it was to warn himself, he wasn't sure what lingered beyond those broken brown eyes.

"Legillimens."

It came all at once. A boy in glasses, over and over. A warmth accompanied his face every time. And they embraced.

"Harry!" She cried, running to him across the great hall.

Then red hair, too much of it, a girl, a boy, twins… One boy always with the glasses boy, no- Harry. Harry and red haired boy and a troll? No that couldn't be right.

Red haired boy. "Ronald!" "Ron." The boy who had made her cry. Glares and pity and anger. And something warm, not like Harry. Something confused.

Snakes. Know it all. Tears. Troll. Light reading. Sirius. Fluffy. Harry! Werewolves. Reflections. Nicolas Flamel. Mandrake. Azkaban. Harry! Wigardium LeviOsa. Pettigrew. Polyjuice. Crookshanks. Hippogriff. Buckteeth. Gilderoy. Ronald. Dementor. Gryffindor! Time turner. Mudblood. A punch. Harry!

Fear. Apprehension. Loyalty. Bravery. Love.

"Ah!" Tom recoiled from her thoughts blinking against his headache.

He didn't know what any of it meant. He only knew that there was too much darkness in her life. So much darkness. Dementors? Azkaban? Werewolves?

Who was she?

He needed more.

It was all moving too fast. He hadn't practiced enough for this. There was too much information to process at once. All he knew now was that she had suffered far too much for a fourteen year old. He knew who Harry and Ron were. He knew she was muggleborn. He knew lots of pointless, stupid things but not why she had tried to kill him.

He needed to know why.

He steeled himself with a breath once his headache subsided somewhat and delved back into her memories.

A stone, a chamber, a prisoner, a goblet.

Expeliarmus. Alohamora. Exspecto Patronum. Bombarda Maxima.

Blue fire. A single scrap of singed paper falling. Harry Potter, a voice calls, quiet. Too quiet.

Not him. Not Harry.

She wanted, she wanted, she didn't know what she wanted!

A dark haired boy.

A dress. Periwinkle blue. Her dress. Dancing. Music.

His own voice. Reparo Maxima.

Dragons, the first task is dragons.

Viktor. Viktor Krum. A kiss. A first kiss. Hermy-o-ninny.

Come seek us where our voices sound. Tom will know. Tom knows everything.

Water. Water everywhere. Drowning. No floating. Shark. Viktor. I'm so cold Viktor. It's okay Hermy-o-ninny.

Tom. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. I almost want to- Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. No!

Nightmares. Is it him, Harry?

Is it Voldemort?

Voldemort?

Dumbledore will know what to do.

Dumbledore. Dumbledore!

Tom fell out of Hermione's mind once again.

Shit.

With sure practiced movements he carried her over to her room and laid her down on the sofa. He then retrieved the cloak she had left on the floor and covered her with it. She could still hear and see and feel everything.

But he needed her still. There were too many things he needed to know.

He prayed to Circe that his memory charms would be strong enough.

"Obliviate."

* * *

"Hermione."

She was afraid. No, angry. No, livid.

"Hermione."

She had to… She had to… Something…

"Hermione, are you alright? You're soaked through what happened to you?"

"Tom?" She croaked, surprised by how raw her voice sounded. Like she'd been shouting.

"Yes, it's me Hermione. I'm going to cast a heating charm on you now."

"Tom."

"Shhh, Granger. You sound awful. Stay still and let me heal you."

"Tom, I feel strange."

"I mean it Granger. You're near death. You should be in the infirmary. What did you think I'd do a better job? I'm not a miracle worker. Just rest."

She did as she was told.

A sudden, obtrusive warmth flooded her system. It wasn't altogether unpleasant. It made her sink further back into whatever surface she was on. It left a satisfying prickle on her skin. She wondered for a moment where it was coming from, until she heard Tom's voice gently muttering.

"Thank you…Tom." She managed. Finding it difficult to stay awake in the comfort of the spell.

"Gaunt."

Hermione didn't understand. "Gaunt?" Was that the spell he was using?

His voice was small when he finally answered. "My last name. It's Gaunt. Tom Gaunt."

She smiled as she lost consciousness. "Tom Gaunt." It didn't suit him very much, she thought. Although she couldn't think of any name that would. He was so difficult to place in many respects, and that was no different.

He was so confusing.

An enigma.

A riddle.

 **A/N: Finally kicking it up a notch. I hope you are prepared for some high level deception in the following chapters! I hope you enjoyed this update, and that my Tom and Hermione are not too mercurial. I am still coming to grips with their characterisation I feel. Please let me know what you think! And thank you for all the follows and favourites and especially the comments! I cannot express enough how much I appreciate them! Love- Mercy!**


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